EVANGELINE, 


TA*LE     OF     ACADIE 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


SIXTH     EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
WILLIAM  D.  TICKNOR   &   COMPANY. 

1848. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1347,  by 

H.  W.   LONGFELLOW, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED   AND  PRINTED    BY 
METCALF     AND      COMPANY 
PRINTERS   TO    1HB   UNIVERSITY. 


PART    THE    FIRST 


THIS  is  the  forest  primeval.  The  murmuring 
pines  and  the  hemlocks, 

Bearded  with  moss,  and  in  garments  green,  indis 
tinct  in  the  twilight, 

Stand  like  Druids  of  eld,  with  voices  sad  and 
prophetic, 

Stand  like  harpers  hoar,  with  beards  that  rest  on 
their  bosoms. 

Loud  from  its  rocky  caverns,  the  deep-voiced 
neighbouring  ocean 


KVANGELINE. 


Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the 
wail  of  the  forest. 


This  is  the  forest  primeval  ;  but  where  are  the 

hearts  that  beneath  it 

Leaped  like  the  roe,  when  he  hears  in  the  wood 
land  the  voice  of  the  huntsman  ? 
Where  is  the  thatch-roofed  village,  the  home  of 

Acadian  farmers,  — 
Men  whose  lives  glided  on  like  rivers  that  water 

the  woodlands, 
Darkened  by  shadows  of  earth,  but  reflecting  an 

image  of  heaven  ? 
Waste  are  those  pleasant  farms,  and  the  fanners 

forever  departed  ! 
Scattered  like  dust  and  leaves,  when  the  mighty 

blasts  of  October 
Seize   them,  and  whirl  them  aloft,  and  sprinkle 

them  far  o'er  the  ocean. 


EVANGELINE. 


taught  but  tradition  remains  of  the  beautiful  vil 
lage  of  Grand-Pre. 


Ye  ftho  believe  in  affection  that  hopes,    and 

endures,  and  is  patient, 
Ye  who  believe  in  the  beauty  and   strength  of 

woman's  devotion, 
List  to   the   mournful  tradition  still  sung  by  the 

pines  of  the  forest ; 
List  to  a  Tale  of  Love  in  Acadie,  home  of  the 

happy. 


I. 


IN  the  Acadian  land,  on  the  shores  of  the  Basin 

of  Mirias, 
Distant,  secluded,  still,  the  little  village  of  Grand- 

Pre 
Lay    in    the     fruitful    valley.       Vast    meadows 

stretched  to  the  eastward, 
Giving  the  village  its  name,  and  pasture  to  flocks 

without  number. 
Dikes,  that  the  hands  of  the  farmers  had  raised 

with  labor  incessant, 
Shut    out    the    turbulent    tides  ;     but    at    stated 

seasons  the  flood-gates 


10  EVANGELISE. 

Opened,  and  welcomed  the  sea  to  wander  at  will 

o'er  the  meadows. 
West  and   south  there   were  fields  of  flax,   and 

orchards  and  cornfields 
Spreading  afar  and  unfenced  o'er  the  plain  ;  and 

away  to  the  northward 
Blomidon  rose,  and  the  forests  old,  and  aloft  on 

the  mountains 
Sea-fogs  pitched  their  tents,  and  mists  from  the 

mighty  Atlantic 
Looked  on  the  happy  valley,  but  ne'er  from  their 

station  descended. 
There,  in  the   midst   of   its  farms,   reposed   the 

Acadian  village. 
Strongly   built  were  the  houses,  with  frames  of 

oak  and  of  chestnut, 
Such  as   the  peasants  of  Normandy  built  in  the 

reign  of  the  Henries. 
Thatched  were  the  roofs,  with  dormer-windows  ; 

and  gables  projecting 


EVANGELINE.  11 

Over  the  basement  below  protected  and  shaded 

the  door-way. 
There  in  the  tranquil  evenings  of  summer,  when 

brightly  the  sunset 
Lighted  the  village  street,  and  gilded  the  vanes 

on  the  chimneys, 
Matrons  and  maidens  sat  in  snow-white  caps  and 

in  kirtles 

Scarlet  and  blue  and  green,  with    distaffs    spin 
ning  the  golden 
Flax  for  the  gossiping  looms,  whose  noisy  shuttles 

within  doors 
Mingled  their  sound  with  the  whir  of  the  wheels 

and  the  songs  of  the  maidens. 
Solemnly  down  the  street  came  the  parish  priest, 

and  the  children 
Paused  in  their  play  to  kiss  the  hand  he  extended 

to  bless  them. 
Reverend  walked  he  among  them  ;  and  up  rose 

matrons  and  maidens, 


12  EVANGELINE. 

Hailing  his  slow  approach  with  words  of  affec 
tionate  welcome. 

Then  came  the  laborers  home  from  the  field,  and 
serenely  the  sun  sank 

Down  to  his  rest,  and  twilight  prevailed.  Anon 
from  the  belfry 

Softly  the  Angelus  sounded,  and  over  the  roofs 
of  the  village 

Columns  of  pale  blue  smoke,  like  clouds  of  in 
cense  ascending, 

Rose  from  a  hundred  hearths,  the  homes  of  peace 
and  contentment. 

Thus  dwelt  together  in  love  these  simple  Acadian 
farmers, — 

Dwelt  in  the  love  of  God  and  of  man.  Alike 
were  they  free  from 

Fear,  that  reigns  with  the  tyrant,  and  envy,  the 
vice  of  republics. 

Neither  locks  had  they  to  their  doors,  nor  bars 
to  their  windows  ; 


EVANGEL1NE.  13 

But  their  dwellings  were   open   as  day  and   the 

hearts  of  the  owners  ; 
There  the  richest  was  poor,  and  the  poorest  lived 

in  abundance. 


Somewhat  apart  from  the  village,  and  nearer 
the  Basin  of  Minas, 

Benedict  Bellefontaine,  the  wealthiest  farmer  of 
Grand-Pre, 

Dwelt  on  his  goodly  acres  ;  and  with  him,  direct 
ing  his  household, 

Gentle  Evangeline  lived,  his  child,  and  the  pride 
of  the  village. 

Stalworth  and  stately  in  form  was  the  man  of  sev 
enty  winters  ; 

Hearty  and  hale  was  he,  an  oak  that  is  covered 
with  snow-flakes  ; 

White  as  the  snow  were  his  locks,  and  his  cheeks 
as  brown  as  the  oak-leaves. 


14  EVANGELINE. 

Fair  was  she  to  behold,  that  maiden  of  seventeen 

summers. 
Black  were  her  eyes  as  the  berry  that  grows  on 

the  thorn  by  the  way-side, 
Black,  yet  how  softly  they  gleamed  beneath  the 

brown  shade  of  her  tresses  ! 
Sweet  was  her  breath  as  the  breath  of  kine  that 

feed  in  the  meadows. 
When  in  the  harvest  heat  she  bore  to  the  reapers 

at  noontide 
Flagons  of  home-brewed  ale,  ah  !    fair  in  sooth 

was  the  maiden. 
Fairer  was  she  when,  on  Sunday  morn,  while  the 

bell  from  its  turret 
Sprinkled  with  holy  sounds  the  air,  as  the  priest 

with  his  hyssop 
Sprinkles  the  congregation,  and  scatters  blessings 

upon  them, 

Down  the  long  street  she  passed,  with  her  chap- 
let  of  beads  and  her  missal, 


EVANGELINE.  15 

Wearing  her  Norman  cap,  and  her  kirtle  of  blue, 

and  the  ear-rings, 
Brought   in   the    olden   time    from    France,   and 

since,  as  an  heirloom, 
Handed  down  from  mother  to  child,  through  long 

generations. 
But   a   celestial   brightness   —  a  more    ethereal 

beauty  — 
Shone  on  her  face  and  encircled  her  form,  when 

after  confession,  • 

Homeward  serenely  she  walked  with  God's  bene 
diction  upon  her. 
When  she  had  passed,  it  seemed  like  the  ceasing 

of  exquisite  music. 
Firmly  build ed  with  rafters  of  oak,  the  house  of 

the  farmer 
Stood  on  the  side  of  a  hill  commanding  the  sea  ; 

and  a  shady 
Sycamore  grew  by  the   door,  with  a  woodbine 

wreathing  around  it. 


16  EVANGELINE. 

Rudely   carved   was    the    porch,   with  seats  be 
neath  ;  and  a  footpath 
Led  through  an  orchard  wide,  and  disappeared 

in  the  meadow. 
Under  the  sycamore-tree  were  hives  overhung  by 

a  penthouse, 
Such  as  the  traveller  sees  in  regions  remote  by 

the  road-side, 
Built   o'er  a  box    for  the  poor,   or   the   blessed 

image  of  Mary. 
Farther  down,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  was  the 

well  with  its  moss-grown 
Bucket,  fastened  with  iron,  and  near  it  a  trough 

for  the  horses. 
Shielding  the  house  from  storms,  on  the  north, 

were  the  barns  and  the  farm-yard. 
There   stood  the   broad-wheeled  wains   and  the 

antique  ploughs  and  the  harrows  ; 
There  were  the  folds  for  the  sheep  ;  and  there, 

in  his  feathered  seraglio, 


E  V  A  N  G  E  L I  N  E.  17 

Strutted  the  lordly  turkey,  and  crowed  the  cock, 

with  the  selfsame 

Voice  that  in  ages  of  old  had  startled  the  peni 
tent  Peter. 
Bursting  with  hay  were  the  barns,  themselves  a 

village.     In  each  one 
Far  o'er  the  gable  projected  a  roof  of  thatch ; 

and  a  staircase, 
Under  the  sheltering  eaves,  led  up  to  the  odorous 

corn-loft. 
There  too  the  dove-cot  stood,  with  its  meek  and 

innocent  inmates 
Murmuring  ever   of  love  ;    while   above    in    the 

variant  breezes 
Numberless  noisy  weathercocks  rattled  and  sang 

of  mutation. 


Thus,  at  peace  with  God  and  the  world,  the 
farmer  of  Grand-Pre 
2 


18  EVANGELINE. 

Lived  on  his  sunny  farm,  and  Evangeline  gov 
erned  his  household. 

Many  a  youth,  as  he  knelt  in  the  church  and 
opened  his  missal, 

Fixed  his  eyes  upon  her,  as  the  saint  of  his  deep 
est  devotion  ; 

Happy  was  he  who  might  touch  her  hand  or  the 
hem  of  her  garment  ! 

Many  a  suitor  came  to  her  door,  by  the  darkness 
befriended, 

And  as  he  knocked  and  waited  to  hear  the  sound 
of  her  footsteps, 

Knew  not  which  beat  the  louder,  his  heart  or  the 
knocker  of  iron  ; 

Or  at  the  joyous  feast  of  the  Patron  Saint  of  the 
village, 

Bolder  grew,  and  pressed  her  hand  in  the  dance 
as  he  whispered 

Hurried  words  of  love,  that  seemed  a  part  of  the 
music. 


EVANGELINE.  19 

But,  among  all  who  came,  young  Gabriel  only 
was  welcome  ; 

Gabriel  Lajeunesse,  the  son  of  Basil  the  black 
smith, 

Who  w£s  a  mighty  man  in  the  village,  and  hon 
ored  of  all  men  ; 

For  since  the  birth  of  time,  throughout  all  ages 
and  nations, 

Has  the  craft  of  the  smith  been  held  in  repute  by 
the  people. 

Basil  was  Benedict's  friend.  Their  children 
from  earliest  childhood 

Grew  up  together  as  brother  and  sister  ;  and 
Father  Felician, 

Priest  and  pedagogue  both  in  the  village,  had 
taught  them  their  letters 

Out  of  the  selfsame  book,  with  the  hymns  of  the 
church  and  the  plain-song. 

But  when  the  hymn  was  sung,  and  the  daily 
lesson  completed, 


20  EVANGELINE. 

Swiftly  they  hurried  away  to  the  forge  of  Basil 
the  blacksmith. 

There  at  the  door  they  stood,  with  wondering 
eyes  to  behold  him 

Take  in  his  leathern  lap  the  hoof  of  the  horse  as 
a  plaything, 

Nailing  the  shoe  in  its  place  ;  while  near  him  the 
tire  of  the  cart-wheel 

Lay  like  a  fiery  snake,  coiled  round  in  a  circle 
of  cinders. 

Oft  on  autumnal  eves,  when  without  in  the  gath 
ering  darkness 

Bursting  with  light  seemed  the  smithy,  through 
every  cranny  and  crevice, 

Warm  by  the  forge  within  they  watched  the  la 
boring  bellows, 

And  as  its  panting  ceased,  and  the  sparks  ex 
pired  in  the  ashes, 

Merrily  laughed,  and  said  they  wrere  nuns  going 
into  the  chapel. 


EVANGELINE.  21 

Oft  on  sledges  in  winter,  as  swift  as  the  swoop 

of  the  eagle, 
Down   the    hill-side  bounding,  they  glided  away 

o'er  the  meadow. 

f 

Oft  ir  the  barns    they  climbed   to  the  populous 

nests  on  the  rafters, 
Seeking   with    eager    eyes    that  wondrous  stone, 

which  the  swallow 
Brings  from  the  shore  of  the  sea  to  restore  the 

sight  of  its  fledglings  ; 
Lucky  was  he  who  found  that  stone  in  the  nest 

of  the  swallow  ! 
Thus    passed   a  few  swift   years,    and   they    no 

longer  were  children. 
He   was  a  valiant  youth,  and  his  face,  like  the 

face  of  the  morning, 
Gladdened  the  earth  with  its  light,   and  ripened 

thought  into  action. 
She  was  a  woman  now,  with  the  heart  and  hopes 

of  a  woman. 


22  EVANGEL1NE. 

u  Sunshine  of  Saint  Eulalie  "  was  she  called  ; 
for  that  was  the  sunshine 

Which,  as  the  farmers  believed,  would  load  their 
orchards  with  apples  ; 

She,  too,  would  bring  to  her  husband's  house 
delight  and  abundance, 

Filling  it  full  of  love  and  the  ruddy  faces  of  chil 
dren. 


II. 


Now  had  the  season   returned,  when  the  nights 

grow  colder  and  longer, 
And  the  retreating  sun  the  sign  of  the  Scorpion 

enters. 
Birds   of  passage   sailed   through  the  leaden   air, 

from  the  ice-bound, 
Desolate  northern  bays  to  the  shores  of  tropical 

islands. 
Harvests  were  gathered  in  ;    and  wild  with  the 

winds  of  September 
Wrestled  the  trees  of  the  forest,  as  Jacob  of  old 

with  the  angel. 


24  EVANGELINE. 

All  the  signs  foretold  a  winter  long  and  inclem 
ent. 

Bees,  with  prophetic  instinct  of  want,  had  hoard 
ed  their  honey 

Till  the  hives  overflowed  ;  and  the  Indian  hunters 
asserted 

Cold  would  the  winter  be,  for  thick  was  the  fur 
of  the  foxes. 

Such  was  the  advent  of  autumn.  Then  followed 
that  beautiful  season, 

Called  by  the  pious  Acadian  peasants  the  Sum 
mer  of  All-Saints  ! 

Filled  was  the  air  with  a  dreamy  and  magical 
light ;  and  the  landscape 

Lay  as  if  new-created  in  all  the  freshness  of 
childhood. 

Peace  seemed  to  reign  upon  earth,  and  the  rest 
less  heart  of  the  ocean 

Was  for  a  moment  consoled.  All  sounds  were 
in  harmony  blended. 


EVANGEL  INK.  25 

Voices  of  children  at  play,  the  crowing  of  cocks 

in  the  farm-yards, 
Whir  of  wings  in  the  drowsy  air,  and  the  cooing 

of  pigeons,  * 

All  were  subdued   and    low  as  the  murmurs  of 

love,  and  the  great  sun 
Looked  with  the  eye  of  love  through  the  golden 

vapors  around  him  ; 
While  arrayed  in  its  robes  of  russet  and  scarlet 

and  yellow, 
Bright  with  the  sheen  of  the  dew,  each  glittering 

tree  of  the  forest 
Flashed  like  the  plane-tree  the  Persian  adorned 

with  mantles  and  jewels. 


Now  recommenced  the  reign  of  rest  and  affec 
tion  and  stillness. 

Day  with  its  burden  and  heat  had  departed,  and 
twilight  descending 


26  EVANGELINE. 

Brought  back  the  evening    star  to  the  sky,  and 

the  herds  to  the  homestead. 
Pawing  the  ground  they  came,  and  resting  their 

necks ^)n  each  other, 
And   with    their   nostrils    distended   inhaling    the 

freshness  of  evening. 
Foremost,  bearing  the  bell,  Evangeline's  beautiful 

heifer, 
Proud  of  her  snow-white   hide,  and  the    ribbon 

that  waved  from  her  collar, 
Quietly  paced  and  slow,  as  if  conscious  of  human 

affection. 
Then  carne  the  shepherd  back  with  his  bleating 

flocks  from  the  sea-side, 
Where  was  their  favorite  pasture.     Behind  them 

followed  the  watch-dog, 
Patient,    full    of   importance,    and   grand    in   the 

pride  of  his  instinct, 
Walking  from  side  to  side  with  a  lordly  air,  and 

superbly 


E  VAN  GEL  IN  E.  27 

Waving  his  busby  tail,  and  urging  forward    the 

stragglers  ; 
Regent  of  flocks  was  he  when  the  shepherd  slept ; 

their  protector, 
When  from  the  forest  at  night,  through  the  starry 

silence,  the  wolves  howled. 
Late,  with  the  rising  moon,  returned    the  wains 

from  the  marshes, 
Laden  with  briny  hay,  that  filled  the  air  with  its 

odor. 
Cheerily  neighed  the  steeds,   with  dew  on  their 

manes  and  their  fetlocks, 
While   aloft  on  their  shoulders  the  wooden  and 

ponderous  saddles, 
Painted   with   brilliant   dyes,    and    adorned   with 

tassels  of  crimson, 
Nodded  in   bright  array,    like   hollyhocks  heavy 

with  blossoms. 
Patiently  stood  the  cows  meanwhile,  and  yielded 

their  udders 


28  EVANGELINE. 

Unto  the   milkmaid's  hand  ;    whilst  loud  and  in 

regular  cadence 
Into    the    sounding   pail    the    foaming    streamlets 

descended. 
Lowing    of   cattle    and    peals    of    laughter   were 

heard  in  the  farm-yard, 
Echoed  back  by  the  barns.     Anon  they  sank  into 

stillness  ; 
Heavily  closed,  with  a  creaking  sound,  the  valves 

of  the  barn-doors, 
Rattled  the  wooden  bars,   and   all  for  a   season 

was  silent. 


In-doors,  warm  by  the  wide-mouthed  fireplace, 

idly  the  farmer 
Sat   in  his    elbow-chair,    and  watched   how   the 

flames  and  the  smoke-wreaths 
Struggled  together  like  foes    in   a  burning  city. 

Behind  him, 


EVANGELINE.  29 

Nodding  and  mocking  along  the  wall,  with  ges 
tures  fantastic, 
Darted  his  own  huge  shadow,  and  vanished  away 

into  darkness. 
Faces,  Clumsily  carved  in  oak,  on  the  back  of 

his  arm-chair 
Laughed  in  the  flickering  light,  and  the  pewter 

plates  on  the  dresser 
Caught   and   reflected    the   flame,   as   shields    of 

armies  the  sunshine. 
Fragments  of  song  the  old  man  sang,  and  carols 

of  Christmas, 
Such  as  at  home,  in  the  olden  time,  his  fathers 

before  him 
Sang  in  their  Norman  orchards  and  bright  Bur- 

gundian  vineyards. 
Close  at  her  father's  side  was  the  gentle  Evan- 

geline  seated, 
Spinning   flax   for   the   loom,    that   stood  in  the 

corner  behind  her. 


30  EVANGELINE. 

Silent  awhile   were  its   treadles,    at  rest  was  its 

diligent  shuttle, 
While  the  monotonous  drone  of  the  wheel,  like 

the  drone  of  a  bagpipe, 
Followed    the    old    man's    song,    and    united  the 

fragments  together. 
As  in  a  church,  when  the  chant  of  the  choir  at 

intervals  ceases, 
Footfalls  are  heard  in  the  aisles,  or  words  of  the 

priest  at  the  altar, 
So,   in  each  pause  of  the   song,  with  measured 

motion  the  clock  clicked. 


Thus  as  they  sat,  there  were  footsteps  heard, 

and,  suddenly  lifted, 

Sounded  the  wooden  latch,  and  the  door  swung 
back  on  its  hinges. 

O 

Benedict  knew  by  the   hob-nailed   shoes  it  was 
Basil  the  blacksmith, 


EVANGELINE.  31 

And  by  her  beating  heart  Evangeline  knew  who 

was  with  him. 
"  Welcome  !  "    the    farmer   exclaimed,  as  their 

footsteps  paused  on  the  threshold, 
"  Welcome,  Basil,  my  friend  !     Come,  take  thy 

place  on  the  settle 
Close    by    the    chimney-side,    which   is    always 

empty  without  thee  ; 
Take  from  the  shelf  overhead  thy  pipe  and  the 

box  of  tobacco  ; 
Never  so  much  thyself  art  thou  as  when  through 

the  curling 
Smoke  of  the  pipe  or  the  forge  thy  friendly  and 

jovial  face  gleams 
Round  and  red  as  the  harvest  moon  through  the 

mist  of  the  marshes." 
Then,    with   a   smile  of   content,  thus  answered 

Basil  the  blacksmith, 
Taking  with  easy  air  the  accustomed  seat  by  the 

fireside  :  — 


32  EVANGELINE. 

"  Benedict  Bellefontaine,  thou  hast  ever  thy  jest 

and  thy  ballad  ! 
Ever  in  cheerfullest  mood  art  thou,  when  others 

are  filled  with 
Gloomy    forebodings    of   ill,    and   see    only  nun 

before  them. 
Happy   art    thou,    as   if    every    day   thou   hadst 

picked  up  a  horseshoe." 
Pausing  a  moment,   to  take  the  pipe  that  Evan- 

geline  brought  him, 
And  with  a  coal  from  the  embers  had  lighted,  he 

slowly  continued  :  — 
"  Four  days   now  are  passed  since  the  English 

ships  at  their  anchors 

Ride  in  the  Gaspereau's  mouth,  with  their  can 
non  pointed  against  us.    • 
What  their  design  may  be  is  unknown  ;  but  all 

are  commanded 
On  the  morrow  to  meet  in  the  church,  where  his 

Majesty's  mandate 


EVANGELINE.  33 

Will  be  proclaimed  as  law  in  the  land.     Alas  ! 

in  the  mean  time 
Many  surmises   of  evil   alarm  the  hearts   of  the 

people." 
Then   made    answer    the    farmer  :  —  "  Perhaps 

some  friendlier  purpose 
Brings  these  ships  to  our  shores.     Perhaps  the 

harvests  in  England 
By   the    untimely  rains  or  untimelier   heat  have 

been  blighted, 
And   from  our   bursting  barns   they  would   feed 

their  cattle  and  children." 
('  Not  so  thinketh  the  folk  in  the  village,"  said, 

warmly,  the  blacksmith, 
Shaking  his  head,  as  in  doubt  ;  then,  heaving  a 

sigh,  he  continued  :  — 
"  Louisburg  is  not  forgotten,  nor  Beau  Sejour, 

nor  Port  Royal. 
Many  already  have  fled  to  the  forest,  and  lurk  on 

its  outskirts, 
3 


34  EVANGELINE. 

Waiting  with  anxious  hearts  the  dubious  late  of 

to-morrow. 
Arms    have   been    taken    from   us,    and   warlike 

weapons  of  all  kinds  ; 
Nothing  is  left  but  the  blacksmith's  sledge  and  the 

scythe  of  the  mower." 
Then   with   a  pleasant   smile   made    answer  the 

jovial  farmer  :  — 
"  Safer    are   we    unarmed,   in   the   midst  of  our 

flocks  and  our  cornfields, 
Safer  within   these   peaceful  dikes,    besieged  by 

the  ocean, 
Than  were  our  fathers  in  forts,  besieged  by  the 

enemy's  cannon. 
Fear  no   evil,    my   friend,    and  to-night  may  no 

shadow  of  sorrow 
Fall  on   this  house  and  hearth ;   for   this   is   the 

night  of  the  contract. 
Built  are  the  house  and  the  barn.     The  merry 

lads  of  the  village 


EVANGLLINE.  35 

Strongly  have  built  them  and  well ;  and,  breaking 

the  glebe  round  about  them, 
Filled  the  barn  with  hay,  and  the  house  with  food 

for  a  twelvemonth. 
Rene  Leblanc  will  be  here  anon,  with  his  papers 

and  inkhorn. 
Shall  we  not  then  be  glad,  and  rejoice  in  the  joy 

of  our  children  ?  " 
As  apart  by  the  window  she  stood,  with  her  hand 

in  her  lover's, 
Blushing    Evangeline    heard    the   words  that  her 

father  had  spoken, 
And   as  they  died  on  his  lips  the  worthy  notary 

entered. 


37 


III. 

BENT  like  a  laboring  oar,  that  toils  in  the  surf 

of  the  ocean, 
Bent,  but  not  broken,  by  age  was  the  form  of 

the  notary  public  ; 
Shocks  of  yellow  hair,  like  the  silken  floss  of  the 

maize,  hung 
Over  his  shoulders  ;  his  forehead  was  high  ;  and 

glasses  with  horn  bows 
Sat  astride  on  his  nose,  with  a  look  of  wisdom 

supernal. 
Father  of  twenty  children  was  he,  and  more  than 

a  hundred 


38  EVANGELINE. 

Children's  children  rode  on  his  knee,  and  heard 

his  great  watch  tick. 
Four  long  years  in  the  times  of  the  war  had  he 

languished  a  captive, 
Suffering  much  in  an  old  French  fort  as  the  friend 

of  the  English. 
Now,  though  warier  grown,  without  all  guile  or 

suspicion, 
Ripe  in  wisdom  was  he,  but  patient,  and  simple, 

and  childlike. 
He  was  beloved  by  all,  and  most  of  all  by  the 

children  ; 
For  he  told  them  tales  of  the  Loup-garou  in  the 

forest, 
And  of  the  goblin  that  came  in  the  night  to  water 

the  horses, 
And  of  the  white  Letiche,  the  ghost  of  a  child 

who  unchristened 
Died,    and    was    doomed    to    haunt  unseen    the 

chambers  of  children  ; 


EVANGELIN'E.  39 

And  how  on  Christmas  eve  the  oxen  talked  in 

the  stable, 
And  how  the  fever  was  cured  by  a  spider,  shut 

up  in  a  nutshell, 
And   of*  the   marvellous    powers    of  four-leaved 

clover  and  horseshoes, 
With  whatsoever  else  was  writ  in  the  lore  of  the 

village. 
Then  up  rose  from  his  seat  by  the  fireside  Basil 

the  blacksmith, 
Knocked   from   his    pipe   the  ashes,  and  slowly 

extending  his  right  hand, 
"  Father  Leblanc,"    he  exclaimed,    "  thou  hast 

heard  the  talk  in  the  village, 
And,  perchance,  canst  tell  us  some  news  of  these 

ships  and  their  errand." 
Then  with  modest  demeanour  made  answer  the 

notary  public,  — • 
"  Gossip  enough  have  I  heard,  in  sooth,  yet  am 

never  the  wiser  ; 


40  EVANGELINE. 

And  what  their  errand  may  be  I  know  not  better 

than  others. 
Yet  am   I  not  of  those  who  imagine  some  evil 

intention 
Brings  them  here,  for  we  are  at  peace  ;  and  why 

then  molest  us  ?  " 

"  God's  name  !  "   shouted  the  hasty  and  some 
what  irascible  blacksmith  ; 
"  Must  we   in  all  things  look  for  the  how,   and 

the  why,  and  the  wherefore  ? 
Daily  injustice  is  done,  and  might  is  the  right  of 

the  strongest  !  " 
But,  without  heeding  his  warmth,   continued  the 

notary  public,  — 
"  Man   is   unjust,    but   God  is  just  ;  and   finallv 

justice 
Triumphs  ;  and  well   I   remember  a  story,   that 

often  consoled  me, 
When  as  a  captive  I  lay  in  the  old  French  fort 

at  Port  Royal." 


EVANGELINE.  41 

This  was  the  old  man's  favorite  tale,  and  he 
loved  to  repeat  it 

Whenever  neighbours  complained  that  any  injus 
tice  was  done  them. 

"  Onceln  an  ancient  city,  whose  name  I  no 
longer  remember, 

Raised  aloft  on  a  column,  a  brazen  statue  of  Jus 
tice 

Stood  in  the  public  square,  upholding  the  scales 
in  its  left  hand, 

And  in  its  right  a  sword,  as  an  emblem  that  jus 
tice  presided 

Over  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  the  hearts  and 
homes  of  the  people. 

Even  the  birds  had  built  their  nests  in  the  scales 
of  the  balance, 

Having  no  fear  of  the  sword  that  flashed  in  the 
sunshine  above  them. 

But  in  the  course  of  time  the  laws  of  the  land 
were  corrupted  ; 


42  EVANGELINE. 

Might  took  the  place  of  right,  and  the  weak  were 

oppressed,  and  the  mighty 
Ruled    with   an   iron  rod.      Then  it   chanced  in 

a  nobleman's  palace 
That  a  necklace  of  pearls  was  lost,  and  ere  long 

a  suspicion 
Fell  on  an  orphan  girl  who  lived  as  maid  in  the 

household. 
She,  after  form  of  trial  condemned  to  die  on  the 

scaffold, 
Patiently  met  her  doom  at  the  foot  of  the  statue 

of  Justice. 
As  to  her  Father   in  heaven  her  innocent  spirit 

ascended, 
Lo  !  o'er  the  city  a  tempest  rose  ;  and  the  bolts 

of  the  thunder 
Smote  the  statue  of  bronze,  and  hurled  in  wrath 

from  its  left  hand 
Down   on   the    pavement    below    the    clattering 

scales  of  the  balance, 


EVANGELINE.  43 

And  in  the  hollow  thereof  was  found  the  nest  of 

a  magpie, 
Into  whose  clay-built  walls  the  necklace  of  pearls 

was  inwoven." 
Silenced,  .but  not  convinced,  when  the  story  was 

ended,  the  blacksmith 
Stood   like    a  man  who   fain  would   speak,    but 

findeth  no  language  ; 
And  all  his  thoughts  congealed  into  lines  on  his 

face,  as  the  vapors 
Freeze  in  fantastic  shapes  on  the  window-panes 

in  the  winter. 


Then   Evangeline   lighted  the  brazen  lamp  on 

the  table, 
Filled,  till  it  overflowed,  the  pewter  tankard  with 

home-brewed 
Nut-brown  ale,  that  was  famed  for  its  strength  in 

the  village  of  Grand-Pre  ; 


44  EVANGELINE. 

While    from    his    pocket   the    notary    drew    his 

papers  and  ink-horn, 
Wrote  with  a  steady  hand  the  date  and  the  age 

of  the  parties, 
Naming  the  dower  of  the  bride  in  flocks  of  sheep 

and  in  cattle. 
Orderly  all  things  proceeded,  and  duly  and  well 

were  completed, 
And  the  great  seal  of  the  law  was  set  like  a  sun 

on  the  margin. 
Then  from  his  leathern  pouch  the  farmer  threw 

on  the  table 
Three  times  the  old  man's  fee  in  solid  pieces  of 

silver  ; 
And  the  notary  rising,  and  blessing  the  bride  and 

the  bridegroom, 
Lifted  aloft  the  tankard  of  ale  and  drank  to  their 

welfare. 
Wiping    the   foam    from    his    lip,     he    solemnly 

bowed  and  departed, 


EVANGELINE.  45 

While  in  silence  the  others  sat  and  mused  by  the 
fireside, 

Till  Evangeline  brought  the  draught-board  out 
of  its  corner. 

Soon  \^as  the  game  begun.  In  friendly  conten 
tion  the  old  men 

Laughed  at  each  lucky  hit,  or  unsuccessful  ma 
noeuvre, 

Laughed  when  a  man  was  crowned,  or  a  breach 
was  made  in  the  king-row. 

Meanwhile  apart,  in  the  twilight  gloom  of  a  win 
dow's  embrasure, 

Sat  the  lovers,  and  whispered  together,  behold 
ing  the  moon  rise 

Over  the  pallid  sea  and  the  silvery  mist  of  the 
meadows. 

Silently  one  by  one,  in  the  infinite  meadows  of 
heaven, 

Blossomed  the  lovely  stars,  the  forget-me-nots 
of  the  angels. 


46  EVANGEL  INE. 

Thus    passed    the   evening    away.      Anon    the 

bell  from  the  belfry 
Rang  out  the  hour  of  nine,  the  village  curfew, 

and  straightway 
Rose    the    guests    and    departed  ;    and    silence 

reigned  in  the  household. 
Many  a  farewell  word  and  sweet  good-night  on 

the  door-step 
Lingered  long  in  Evangeline's  heart,  and  filled  it 

with  gladness. 
Carefully   then   were    covered   the    embers    that 

glowed  on  the  hearth-stone, 
And  on  the  oaken  stairs  resounded  the  tread  of 

the  farmer. 
Soon  with  a  soundless  step  the  foot  of  Evange- 

line  followed. 
Up  the  staircase  moved  a  luminous  space  in  the 

darkness, 
Lighted  less  by  the  lamp  than  the  shining  face  of 

the  maiden. 


EVANGELINE.  47 

Silent  she  passed   through  the  hall,  and  entered 

the  door  of  her  chamber. 
Simple  that  chamber  was,    with   its   curtains  of 

white,  and  its  clothes-press 
Ample  *nd  high,  on  whose  spacious  shelves  were 

carefully  folded 
Linen  and  woollen  stuffs,  by  the  hand  of  Evan- 

geline  woven. 
This  was  the  precious  dower  she  would  bring  to 

her  husband  in  marriage, 
Better  than  flocks  and  herds,  being  proofs  of  her 

skill  as  a  housewife. 

Soon    she  extinguished   her   lamp,  for   the  mel 
low  and  radiant  moonlight 
Streamed  through  the  windows,  and   lighted  the 

room,  till  the  heart  of  the  maiden 
Swelled  and  obeyed  its  power,  like  the  tremulous 

tides  of  the  ocean. 
Ah  !  she  was  fair,  exceeding  fair  to  behold,   as 

she  Istood  with 


48  EVANGELINE. 

Naked  snow-white  feet  on  the  gleaming  floor  of 
her  chamber  ! 

Little  she  dreamed  that  below,  among  the  trees 
of  the  orchard. 

Waited  her  lover  and  watched  for  the  gleam  of 
her  lamp  and  her  shadow. 

Yet  were  her  thoughts  of  him,  and  at  times  a 
feeling  of  sadness 

Passed  o'er  her  soul,  as  the  sailing  shade  of 
clouds  in  the  moonlight 

Flitted  across  the  floor  and  darkened  the  room 
for  a  moment. 

And  as  she  gazed  from  the  window  she  saw  se 
renely  the  moon  pass 

Forth  from  the  folds  of  a  cloud,  and  one  star 
follow  her  footsteps, 

As  out  of  Abraham's  tent  young  Ishmael  wan 
dered  with  Hagar  ! 


49 


IV. 

PLEASANTLY  rose    next   morn   the    sun  on   the 
village  of  Grand-Pre. 

Pleasantly   gleamed   in    the    soft,    sweet    air   the 
Basin  of  Minas, 

Where  the  ships,   with  their  wavering  shadows, 
were  riding  at  anchor. 

Life  had  long  been  astir  in  the  village,  and  clam 
orous  labor 

Knocked  with  its  hundred  hands   at  the   golden 
gates  of  the  morning. 

Now  from   the   country  around,   from   the  farms 
and  the  neighbouring  hamlets, 
4 


50  EVANGELINE. 

Came  in  their  holiday  dresses  the  blithe  Acadian 
peasants. 

Many  a  glad  good-morrow  and  jocund  laugh  from 
the  young  folk 

Made  the  bright  air  brighter,  as  up  from  the 
numerous  meadows, 

Where  no  path  could  be  seen  but  the  track  of 
wheels  in  the  greensward, 

Group  after  group  appeared,  and  joined,  or 
passed  on  the  highway. 

Long  ere  noon,  in  the  village  all  sounds  of  labor 
were  silenced. 

Thronged  were  the  streets  with  people  ;  and 
noisy  groups  at  the  house-doors 

Sat  in  the  cheerful  sun,  and  rejoiced  and  gos- 
sipped  together. 

Every  house  was  an  inn,  where  all  were  wel 
comed  and  feasted  ; 

For  with  this  simple  people,  who  lived  like  broth 
ers  together, 


EVANGELINE.  51 

All  things  were  held  in  common,  and  what  one 

had  was  another's, 
^et   under    Benedict's    roof    hospitality   seemed 

more  abundant  : 
For  Eyangeline  stood  among  the   guests  of  her 

father  ; 
Bright  was  her  face  with  smiles,  and  words  of 

welcome  and  gladness 
Fell  from  her  beautiful  lips,  and  blessed  the  cup 

as  she  gave  it. 


Under  the  open  sky,  in  the  odorous  air  of  the 

orchard , 
Bending  with  golden  fruit,  was  spread  the  feast 

of  betrothal. 
There  in  the  shade  of  the  porch  were  the  priest 

and  the  notary  seated  ; 
There  good  Benedict  sat,   and  sturdy  Basil  the 

blacksmith. 


52  E^IANGELINE. 

Not  far  withdrawn  from  these,  by  the  cider-press 

and  the  beehives, 
Michael  the  fiddler  was  placed,  with  the  gayest 

of  hearts  and  of  waistcoats. 
Shadow   and   light   from    the    leaves    alternately 

played  on  his  snow-white 
Hair,  as  it  waved  in  the  wind  ;  and  the  jolly  face 

of  the  fiddler 
Glowed  like  a  living   coal   when  the    ashes    are 

blown  from  the  embers. 
Gayly  the  old  man  sang  to  the  vibrant  sound  of 

his  fiddle, 
Tons  Us  Bourgeois  de  Chartres,  and  Le  Carillon 

de  Dunkerque, 
And  anon  with  his  wooden  shoes  beat  time  to  the 

music. 

Merrily,  merrily  whirled  the  wheels  of  the  dizzy 
ing  dances 
Under  the  orchard-trees  and  down  the  path  to  the 

meadows  ; 


EVANGELINE.  53 

Old  folk  and  young  together,  and  children  min 
gled  among  them. 

Fairest  of  all  the  maids  was  Evangeline,  Bene 
dict's  daughter  ! 

Noblest  of  all  the  youths  was  Gabriel,  son  of  the 
blacksmith  ! 


So  passed  the  morning  away.  And  lo  !  with 
a  summons  sonorous 

Sounded  the  bell  from  its  tower,  and  over  the 
meadows  a  drum  beat. 

Thronged  ere  long  was  the  church  with  men. 
Without,  in  the  churchyard, 

Waited  the  women.  They  stood  by  the  graves, 
and  hung  on  the  head-stones 

Garlands  of  autumn-leaves  and  evergreens  fresh 
from  the  forest. 

Then  came  the  guard  from  the  ships,  and  march 
ing  proudly  among  them 


54  EVANGELINE. 

Entered  the  sacred  portal.  With  loud  and  dis 
sonant  clangor 

Echoed  the  sound  of  their  brazen  drums  from 
ceiling  and  casement,  — 

Echoed  a  moment  only,  and  slowly  the  ponder 
ous  portal 

Closed,  and  in  silence  the  crowd  awaited  the  will 
of  the  soldiers. 

Then  uprose  their  commander,  and  spake  from 
the  steps  of  the  altar, 

Holding  aloft  in  his  hands,  with  its  seals,  the 
royal  commission. 

"  You  are  convened  this  day,"  he  said,  ".by  his 
Majesty's  orders. 

Clement  and  kind  has  he  been  ;  but  how  you 
have  answered  his  kindness, 

Let  your  own  hearts  reply  !  To  my  natural 
make  and  my  temper 

Painful  the  task  is  I  do,  which  to  you  I  know 
must  be  grievous. 


EVANGELINE.  55 

Yet  must  I  bow  and  obey,  and  deliver  the  will 

of  our  monarch  ; 
'Namely,  that  all  your  lands,  and  dwellings,  and 

cattle  of  all  kinds 

Forfeited  be  to  the  crown  ;  and  that  you  your 
selves  from  this  province 
Be   transported  to  other  lands.     God  grant  you 

may  dwell  there 
Ever  as  faithful  subjects,  a  happy  and  peaceable 

people  ! 
Prisoners  now  I  declare   you  ;    for    such  is   his 

Majesty's  pleasure  !  " 
As,  when  the  air  is  serene  in  the  sultry  solstice 

of  summer, 
Suddenly  gathers  a  storm,  and  the  deadly  sling  of 

the  hailstones 
Beats   down    the  farmer's    corn  in  the  field  and 

shatters  his  windows, 
Hiding  the   sun,   and    strewing  the    ground   with 

thatch  from  the  house-roofs, 


56  EVANGEL1NE. 

Bellowing  fly  the  herds,  and  seek  to  break  their 

inclosures  ; 
So  on   the  hearts  of  the  people  descended   the 

words  of  the  speaker. 
Silent  a  moment  they  stood  in  speechless  wonder, 

and  then  rose 
Louder  and  ever   louder  a  wail  of  sorrow  and 

anger, 
And,  by  one  impulse  moved,  they  madly  rushed 

to  the  door- way. 
Vain    was    the   hope  of  escape  ;  and  cries   and 

fierce  imprecations 
Rang  through  the  house  of  prayer  ;  and  high  o'er 

the  heads  of  the  others 
Rose,  with  his  arms  uplifted,  the  figure  of  Basil 

the  blacksmith, 
As,   on  a  stormy   sea,   a  spar  is  tossed  by  the 

billows. 
Flushed  was  his  face  and  distorted  with  passion  ; 

and  wildly  he  shouted,  — 


EVANGELINE.  57 

"  Down  with  the  tyrants  of  England  !  we  never 

have  sworn  them  allegiance  ! 
Death  to  these  foreign  soldiers,  who  seize  on  our 

homes  and  our  harvests  !  " 

More  he  fain  would  have  said,  but  the  merciless 

f 

hand  of  a  soldier 

Smote  him   upon  the  mouth,    and   dragged  him 
down  to  the  pavement. 


In  the  midst  of  the  strife  and  tumult  of  angry 

contention, 
Lo  !  the  door  of  the  chancel  opened,  and  Father 

Felician 
Entered,   with  serious    mien,    and   ascended  the 

steps  of  the  altar. 
Raising  his  reverend  hand,  with  a  gesture  he  awed 

into  silence 
All  that  clamorous  throng  ;  and  thus  he  spake  to 

his  people  ; 


58  EVANGELINE. 

Deep  were    his    tones    and   solemn  ;    in  accents 

measured  and  mournful 
Spake  he,  as,  after  the  tocsin's  alarum,  distinctly 

the  clock  strikes. 
"  What  is  this  that  ye  do,   my  children  ?    what 

madness  has  seized  you  ? 
Forty  years  of  my  life  have  I  labored  among  you, 

and  taught  you, 
Not   in   word    alone,    but  in  deed,    to   love  one 

another  ! 
Is  this  the   fruit  of  my  toils,    of   my  vigils  and 

prayers  and  privations  ? 
Have  you   so  soon  forgotten  all  lessons  of  love 

and  forgiveness  ? 
This  is  the  house  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  and 

would  you  profane  it 
Thus    with  violent  deeds  and  hearts  overflowing 

O 

with  hatred  ? 

Lo  !  where  the  crucified  Christ  from  his  cross  is 
gazing  upon  you  ! 


EVANGELINE.  59 

See  !  in  those  sorrowful  eyes  what  meekness  and 

holy  compassion  ! 
Hark  !    how  those  lips   still   repeat  the   prayer, 

'  O  Father,  forgive  them  ! ' 
Let  us  repeat  that  prayer  in  the  hour  when  the 

wicked  assail  us, 
Let  us  repeat  it  now,  and  say,  '  O  Father,  forgive 

them  !  '" 
Few  were  his  words  of  rebuke,  but  deep  in  the 

hearts  of  his  people 
Sank  they,  and  sobs  of  contrition  succeeded  that 

passionate  outbreak  ; 

And  they  repeated  his  prayer,  and  said,  "  O  Fa 
ther,  forgive  them  !  " 


Then  came  the  evening  service.     The  tapers 

gleamed  from  the  altar. 

Fervent  and  deep  was  the  voice  of   the  priest, 
and  the  people  responded, 


60  EVANGELINE. 

Not  with  their  lips  alone,  but  their  hearts  ;  and 
the  Ave  Maria 

Sang  they,  and  fell  on  their  knees,  and  their 
souls,  with  devotion  translated, 

Rose  on  the  ardor  of  prayer,  like  Elijah  ascend 
ing  to  heaven. 


Meanwhile  had  spread  in  the  village  the  tidings 
of  ill,  and  on  all  sides 

Wandered,  wailing,  from  house  to  house  the 
women  and  children. 

Long  at  her  father's  door  Evangeline  stood,  with 
her  right  hand 

Shielding  her  eyes  from  the  level  rays  of  the 
sun,  that,  descending, 

Lighted  the  village  street  with  mysterious  splen 
dor,  and  roofed  each 

Peasant's  cottage  with  golden  thatch,  and  em 
blazoned  its  windows. 


EVANGELINE.  61 

Long   within   had   been    spread    the    snow-white 
cloth  on  the  table  ; 

There    stood    the    wheaten   loaf,    and  the  honey 
fragrant  with  wild  flowers  ; 

There  ^tood  the  tankard  of  ale,  and  the  cheese 
fresh  brought  from  the  dairy  ; 

And  at  the  head  of  the  board  the  great  arm-chair 
of  the  farmer. 

Thus  did    Evangeline  wait  at  her  father's  door, 
as  the  sunset 

Threw  the  long  shadows  of  trees  o'er  the  broad 
ambrosial  meadows. 

Ah  !    on  her  spirit  within   a  deeper  shadow  had 
fallen, 

And  from  the  fields  of  her  soul  a  fragrance  ce 
lestial  ascended, — 

Charity,  meekness,  love,  and  hope,  and  forgive 
ness,  and  patience  ! 

Then,  all-forgetful  of  self,  she  wandered  into  the 
village, 


62  EVANGELINE. 

Cheering  with  looks  and  words  the  disconsolate 

hearts  of  the  women, 
As  o'er  the  darkening  fields  with  lingering  steps 

they  departed, 
Urged  by  their  household  cares,  and  the  weary 

feet  of  their  children. 
Down  sank   the    great  red   sun,   and  in   golden, 

glimmering  vapors 
Veiled  the   light   of  his   face,   like   the   Prophet 

descending  from  Sinai. 
Sweetly  over  the  village  the  bell  of  the  Angelus 

sounded. 


Meanwhile,  amid  the  gloom,  by  the  church 
Evangeline  lingered. 

All  was  silent  within  ;  and  in  vain  at  the  door 
and  the  windows 

Stood  she,  and  listened  and  looked,  until,  over 
come  by  emotion, 


EVANGELINE.  63 

"Gabriel!"    cried    she    aloud    with    tremulous 

voice  ;  but  no  answer 
Came   from   the  graves    of    the    dead,    nor   the 

gloomier  grave  of  the  living. 
Slowly «t  length  she    returned   to  the  tenantless 

house  of  her  father. 
Smouldered  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  on  the  board 

stood   the  supper   untasted, 
Empty  and   drear   was  each  room,  and  haunted 

with  phantoms  of  terror. 
Sadly  echoed  her  step  on  the  stair  and  the  floor 

of  her  chamber. 
In  the  dead  of  the  night  she  heard  the  whispering 

rain  fall 

Loud  on  the  withered   leaves   of  the  sycamore- 
tree  by  the  window. 
Keenly  the  lightning  flashed  ;  and  the  voice  of 

the  neighbouring  thunder 
Told  her  that  God  was  in  heaven,  and  governed 

the  world  he  created  ! 


64  EVANGELINE. 

Then  she  remembered  the  tale  she  had  heard  of 
the  justice  of  heaven  ; 

Soothed  was  her  troubled  soul,  and  she  peace 
fully  slumbered  till  morning. 


65 


V. 


FOUR  times  the  sun  had  risen  and  set;  and  now 
on  the  fifth  day 

Cheerily  called  the  cock   to  the   sleeping  maids 
of  the  farm-house. 

Soon  o'er  the  yellow  fields,  in  silent  and  mourn 
ful  procession, 

Came   from  the  neighbouring  hamlets  and  farms 
the  Acadian  women, 

Driving  in  ponderous  wains  their  household  goods 
to  the  sea-shore, 

Pausing  and  looking  back  to  gaze  once  more  on 
their  dwellings, 
5 


6'J  EVAJSGELINE. 

Ere  they  were  shut  from  sight  by  the  winding- 
road  and  the  woodland. 

Close  at  their  sides  their  children  ran,  and  urged 
on  the  oxen, 

While  in  their  little  hands  they  clasped  sonic 
fragments  of  playthings. 


Thus  to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  they  hurried  ; 

and  there  on  the  sea-beach 
Piled  in  confusion  lay  the  household  goods  of  the 

peasants. 
All  day  long  between  the  shore  and  the  ships  did 

the  boats  ply  ; 
All  day  long  the  wains  came  laboring  down  from 

the  village. 
Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was  near  to 

his  setting, 
Echoing  far  o'er  the  fields  came  the  roll  of  drums 

from  the  church-yard. 


EVANGELINK.  67 

Thither  the  women  and  children  thronged.     On 

a  sudden  the  church-doors 
Opened,  and  forth  came  the  guard,  and  marching 

in  gloomy  procession 

Followed  the  long-imprisoned,  but  patient,   Aca 
dian  farmers. 
Even   as   pilgrims,   who  journey  afar  from  their 

homes  and  their  country, 
Sing  as  they  go,  and   in   singing  forget  they  are 

weary  and  way-worn, 
So  with  songs  on  their  lips  the  Acadian  peasants 

descended 
Down  from  the  church  to  the  shore,  amid  their 

wives  and  their  daughters. 
Foremost    the    young   men    came  ;    and,    raising 

together  their  voices, 
Sang  they   with   tremulous    lips    a   chant   of  the 

Catholic  Missions  :  — 
"  Sacred  heart  of  the  Saviour  !     O  inexhaustible 

fountain  ! 


68 


E  VANGELINE. 


Fill  our  hearts  this  day  with  strength  and  submis 
sion  and  patience  !  " 

Then  the  old  men,  as  they  marched,  and  the 
women  that  stood  by  the  way-side 

Joined  in  the  sacred  psalm,  and  the  birds  in  the 
sunshine  above  them 

Mingled  their  notes  therewith,  like  voices  of 
spirits  departed. 


Half-way  down  to  the  shore  Evangeline  waited 

in  silence, 
Not  overcome  with  grief,  but  strong  in  the  hour 

of  affliction,  — 
Calmly   and    sadly  waited,   until  the   procession 

approached  her, 
And  she  beheld  the   face  of  Gabriel  pale  with 

emotion. 
Tears  then  filled  her  eyes,  and,  eagerly  running 

to  meet  him, 


EVANGELINE.  69 

Clasped  she  his  hands,  and  laid  her  head  on  his 

shoulder,  and  whispered,  — 
"  Gabriel  !    he   of  good  cheer  !    for  if  we  love 

one  another, 

Nothing   in  truth,  can  harm  us,    whatever    mis 
chances  may  happen  !  " 
Smiling  she   spake  these  words  ;   then  suddenly 

paused,  for  her  father 
Saw  she  slowly  advancing.     Alas  !  how  changed 

was  his  aspect  ! 
Gone  was  the  glow  from  his  cheek,  and  the  fire 

from  his  eye,  and  his  footstep 
Heavier  seemed    with   the  wreight  of  the  weary 

heart  in  his  bosom. 
But  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh,  she  clasped  his  neck 

and  embraced  him, 
Speaking  words   of  endearment  where  words  of 

comfort  availed  not. 
Thus   to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  moved  on  that 

mournful  procession. 


70  EVANGELINE. 

There  disorder;  prevailed,  and  the  tumult  and 
stir  of  embarking. 

Busily  plied  the  freighted  boats  ;  and  in  the  con 
fusion 

Wives  were  torn  from  their  husbands,  and  moth 
ers,  loo  late,  saw  their  children 

Left  on  the  land,  extending  their  arms,  with 
wildest  entreaties. 

So  unto  separate  ships  were  Basil  and  Gabriel 
carried, 

While  in  despair  on  the  shore  Evangeline  stood 
with  her  father. 

Half  the  task  was  not  done  when  the  sun  went 
down,  and  the  twilight 

Deepened  and  darkened  around  ;  and  in  haste 
the  refluent  ocean 

Fled  away  from  the  shore,  and  left  the  line  of  the 
sand-beach 

Covered  with  waifs  of  the  tide,  with  kelp  and 
the  slippery  sea-weed. 


EVANGELINE.  71 

Farther  back  in  the  midst  of  the  household  goods 
and  the  wagons, 

Like  to  a  gypsy  camp,  or  a  leaguer  after  a 
battle, 

All  escape  cut  off  by  the  sea,  and  the  sentinels 
near  them, 

Lay  encamped  for  the  night  the  houseless  Aca 
dian  farmers. 

Back  to  its  nethermost  caves  retreated  the  bel 
lowing  ocean, 

Dragging  adown  the  beach  the  rattling  peb 
bles,  and  leaving 

Inland  and  far  up  the  shore  the  stranded  boats 
of  the  sailors. 

Then,  as  the  night  descended,  the  herds  re 
turned  from  their  pastures  ; 

Sweet  was  the  moist  still  air  with  the  odor  of 
milk  from  their  udders  ; 

Lowing  they  waited,  and  long,  at  the  well-known 
bars  of  the  farm-yard,  — 


72  EVANGELINE. 

Waited  and  looked  in  vain  for  the  voice  and  the 

hand  of  the  milkmaid. 
Silence  reigned  in  the  streets  ;  from  the  church 

no  Angelus  sounded, 
Rose  no  smoke  from  the  roofs,  and  gleamed  no 

lights  from  the  windows. 


But  on  the  shores  meanwhile  the  evening  fires 
had  been  kindled, 

Built  of  the  drift-wood  thrown  on  the  sands  from 
wrecks  in  the  tempest. 

Round  them  shapes  of  gloom  and  sorrowful  faces 
were  gathered, 

Voices  of  women  were  heard,  and  of  men,  and 
the  crying  of  children. 

Onward  from  fire  to  fire,  as  from  hearth  to  hearth 
in  his  parish. 

Wandered  the  faithful  priest,  consoling  and  bless 
ing  and  cheering, 


EVANGELINE.  73 

Like  unto  shipwrecked  Paul  on  Melita's  deso 
late  sea-shore. 

Thus  he  approached  the  place  where  Evangeline 
sat  with  her  father, 

And  in  the  flickering  light  beheld  the  face  of  the 
old  man, 

Haggard  and  hollow  and  wan,  and  without  either 
thought  or  emotion, 

E'en  as  the  face  of  a  clock  from  which  the  hands 
have  been  taken. 

Vainly  Evangeline  strove  with  words  and  caresses 
to  cheer  him, 

Vainly  offered  him  food  ;  yet  he  moved  not,  he 
tooked  not,  he  spake  not, 

But,  with  a  vacant  stare,  ever  gazed  at  the  flick 
ering  fire-light. 

"  Benedicite  /"  murmured  the  priest,  in  tones  of 
compassion. 

More  he  fain  would  have  said,  but  his  heart  was 
full,  and  his  accents 


74  EVANGELINE. 

Faltered  and  paused  on  his  lips,  as  the  feet  of  a 

child  on  a  threshold, 
Hushed  by  the  scene  he  beholds,  and  the  awful 

presence  of  sorrow. 
Silently,  therefore,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  head 

of  the  maiden, 
Raising  his  eyes,  full  of  tears,  to  the  silent  stars 

that  above  them 
Moved  on  their  way,  unperturbed  by  the  wrongs 

and  sorrows  of  mortals. 
Then    sat  he  down  at  her    side,  and  they  wept 

together  in  silence. 


Suddenly   rose   from   the    south  a  light,  as   in 

autumn  the  blood-red 
Moon  climbs    the  crystal  walls   of   heaven,    and 

o'er  the  horizon 
Titan-like     stretches    its    hundred    hands    upon 

mountain  and  meadow, 


EVANGELINE.  75 

Seizing  the  rocks  and  the  rivers,  and  piling  huge 

shadows  together. 
Broader  and  ever  broader  it  gleamed  on  the  roofs 

of  the  village, 
Gleame^  on  the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  the  ships 

that  lay  in  the  roadstead. 
Columns  of  shining  smoke  uprose,  and  flashes  of 

flame  were 
Thrust  through   their  folds   and  withdrawn,   like 

the  quivering  hands  of  a  martyr. 
Then  as  the  wind  seized  the  gleeds  and  the  burn 
ing  thatch,  and,  uplifting, 
Whirled  them  aloft  through  the  air,  at  once  from 

a  hundred  house-tops 
Started  the  sheeted  smoke  with  flashes   of  flame 

intermingled. 


These  things  beheld  in  dismay  the  crowd  on 
the  shore  and  on  shipboard. 


76  EVAN  CELINE. 

Speechless  at  first  they  stood,  then  cried  aloud  in 

their  anguish, 
"  We  shall   behold  no   more  our   homes  in  the 

village  of  Grand-Pre  !  " 
Loud  on  a  sudden  the  cocks  began  to  crow  in  the 

farm-yards, 
Thinking  the   day  had    dawned  ;    and    anon  the 

lowing  of  cattle 
Came  on  the  evening  breeze,  by  the  barking  of 

dogs  interrupted. 
Then  rose  a  sound  of  dread,  such  as  startles  the 

sleeping  encampments 
Far  in  the  western  prairies  or  forests  that  skirt 

the  Nebraska, 
When  the  wild  horses  affrighted  sweep  by  with 

the  speed  of  the  whirlwind, 
Or  the  loud  bellowing  herds  of  buffaloes  rush  to 

the  river. 
Such  was  the  sound  that  arose  on  the  night,  as 

the  herds  and  the  horses 


EVANGELINE.  77 

Broke  through  their  folds  and  fences,  and  madly 
rushed  o'er  the  meadows. 


Overwhelmed   with  the  sight,  yet   speechless, 

the  priest  and  the  maiden 
Gazed  on  the  scene  of  terror  that  reddened  and 

widened  before  them  ; 
And  as  they   turned  at  length  to  speak  to  their 

silent  companion, 
Lo  !  from  his  seat  he  had  fallen,  and  stretched 

abroad  on  the  sea-shore 
Motionless  lay  his  form,  from  which  the  soul  had 

departed. 
Slowly  the  priest  uplifted  the  lifeless  head,  and 

the  maiden 
Knelt  at  her  father's  side,  and  wailed  aloud  in  her 

terror. 
Then  in  a  swoon  she  sank,   and  lay  with  her  head 

on  his  bosom. 


78  E  VANG  KLINE. 

Through  the  long  night  she  lay  in  deep,  oblivious 

slumber  ; 
And  when  she  woke  from  the  trance,  she  beheld 

a  multitude  near  her. 
Faces  of  friends  she  beheld,  that  were  mournfully 

gazing  upon  her, 
Pallid,   with   tearful   eyes,  and   looks  of  saddest 

compassion. 
Still  the  blaze  of  the  burning  village  illumined  the 

landscape, 
Reddened  the  sky  overhead,  and  gleamed  on  the 

faces  around  her, 

And  like  the  day  of  doom  it  seemed  to  her  wa 
vering  senses. 
Then  a  familiar  voice  she  heard,  as  it  said  to   the 

people,  — 
"  Let  us  bury  him  here    by  the  sea.     When  a 

happier  season 
Brings  us  again  to  our  homes  from  the  unknov,  n 

land  of  our  exile, 


EVANGELINE.  79 

Then  shall  his  sacred  dust  be  piously  laid  in  the 

church-yard." 
Such  were  the  words  of  the  priest.     And  there 

in  haste  by  the  sea-side, 
Having  flie  glare  of  the  burning  village  for  funeral 

torches, 
But  without  bell  or  book,  they  buried  the  farmer 

of  Grand-Pre. 
And  as  the  voice  of  the  priest  repeated  the  service 

of  sorrow, 
Lo  !  with  a  mournful  sound,  like  the  voice  of  a 

vast  congregation, 
Solemnly  answered  the  sea,  and  mingled  its  roar 

with  the  dirges. 
'T    was    the   returning  tide,    that  afar  from  the 

waste  of  the  ocean, 
With  the  first  dawn  of  the  day,  came  heaving  and 

hurrying  landward. 
Then  recommenced  once  more  the  stir  and  noise 

of  embarking  ; 


80  EVANGEL!  NE. 

And  with  the  ebb  of  that  tide  the  ships  sailed  out 

of  the  harbour, 
Leaving  behind  them  the  dead  on  the  shore,  and 

the  village  in  ruins. 


PART  THE   SECOND. 


I, 


MANY  a  weary  year  had  passed  since  the  burning 

of  Grand-Pre, 
When  on  the   falling  tide   the   freighted   vessels 

departed, 
Bearing  a  nation,  with  all  its  household  gods,  into 

exile, 
Exile  without  an  end,  and  without  an  example  in 

story. 
Far  asunder,  on  separate  coasts,    the   Acadians 

landed  ; 
Scattered  were  they,  like  flakes  of  snow,  when 

the  wind  from  the  northeast 


84  EVANGELINE. 

Strikes  aslant  through  the  fogs  that    darken   the 

Banks  of  Newfoundland. 
Friendless,    homeless,    hopeless,    they  wandered 

from  city  to  city, 
From   the     cold   lakes    of    the    North    to   sultry 

Southern  savannas,  — 
From  the  bleak   shores  of  the  sea  to  the  lands 

wrhere  the  Father  of  Waters 
Seizes    the    hills   in   his  hands,  and  drags  them 

doAvn  to  the  ocean, 
Deep  in  their  sands  to  bury  the  scattered  bones 

of  the  mammoth. 
Friends    they   sought   and   homes  ;    and    many, 

despairing,  heart-broken, 
Asked   of  the  earth  but  a  grave,  and  no  longer 

a  friend  nor  a  fireside. 
Written  their  history  stands  on  tablets  of  stone  in 

the  church-yards. 
Long  among  them  was  seen  a  maiden  who  waited 

and  wandered, 


EVANGELI.XE.  85 

Lowly  and  meek  in  spirit,  and  patiently  suffer 
ing  all  things. 

Fair  was  she  and  young  ;  but,  alas  !  before  her 
extended, 

Dreary  and  vast  and  silent,  the  desert  of  life, 
with  its  pathway 

Marked  by  the  graves  of  those  who  had  sorrowed 
and  suffered  before  her, 

Passions  long  extinguished,  and  hopes  long  dead 
and  abandoned, 

As  the  emigrant's  way  o'er  the  Western  desert  is 
marked  by 

Camp-fires  long  consumed,  and  bones  that  bleach 
in  the  sunshine. 

Something  there  was  in  her  life  incomplete,  im 
perfect,  unfinished  ; 

As  if  a  morning  of  June,  with  all  its  music  and 
sunshine, 

Suddenly  paused  in  the  sky,  and,  fading,  slowly 
descended 


86  EVANGELINE. 

Into  the  east   again,    from   whence  it    late    had 

arisen. 
Sometimes  she  lingered  in  towns,  till,  urged  by 

the  fever  within  her, 
Urged  by  a  restless  longing,  the  hunger  and  thirst 

of  the  spirit, 
She  would  commence  again   her  endless  search 

and  endeavour  ; 
Sometimes  in  church-yards  strayed,  and  gazed  on 

the  crosses  and  tombstones, 
Sat   by  some  nameless    grave,   and  thought  that 

perhaps  in  its  bosom 

He  was  already  at  rest,  and  she  longed  to  slum 
ber  beside  him. 
Sometimes  a  rumor,    a  hearsay,    an   inarticulate 

whisper, 
Came  with  its  airy  hand  to  point  and  beckon  her 

forward. 
Sometimes  she  spake  with  those  who  had  seen 

her  beloved  and  known  him, 


EVANGELINE.  87 

But  it  was  long  ago,  in  some  far-off  place  or  for 
gotten. 

"  Gabriel  Lajeunesse  !  "  said  they  ;  "  O,  yes  ! 
we  have  seen  him. 

He  W^B  with  Basil  the  blacksmith,  and  both 
have  gone  to  the  prairies  ; 

Coureurs-des-Bois  are  they,  and  famous  hunters 
and  trappers." 

"  Gabriel  Lajeunesse  !  "  said  others  ;  "  O,  yes  ! 
we  have  seen  him. 

He  is  a  Voyageur  in  the  lowlands  of  Lou 
isiana." 

Then  would  they  say,  —  "  Dear  child  !  why 
dream  and  wait  for  him  longer  ? 

Are  there  not  other  youths  as  fair  as  Gabriel  ? 
others 

Who  have  hearts  as  tender  and  true,  and  spirits  as 
loyal  ? 

Here  is  Baptiste  Leblanc,  the  notary's  son,  who 
has  loved  thee 


88  EVANGELINE. 

Many  a  tedious  year  ;  come,  give  him  thy  hand 
and  be  happy  ! 

Thou  art  too  fair  to  he  left  to  braid  St.  Cath 
erine's  tresses." 

Then  would  Evangeline  answer,  serenely  but  sad 
ly,  —  "  I  cannot  ! 

Whither  my  heart  has  gone,  there  follows  my 
hand,  and  not  elsewhere. 

For  when  the  heart  goes  before,  like  a  lamp,  and 
illumines  the  pathway, 

Many  things  are  made  clear,  that  else  lie  hidden 
in  darkness.1' 

And  thereupon  the  priest,  her  friend  and  father- 
confessor, 

Said,  with  a  smile,  —  "  O  daughter  !  thy  God 
thus  speaketh  within  thee  ! 

Talk  not  of  wasted  affection,  affection  never  was 
wasted  ; 

If  it  enrich  not  the  heart  of  another,  its  waters, 
returning 


EVANGELINE.  89 

Back  to  their  springs,  like  the  rain,  shall  fill  them 

full  of  refreshment  ; 
That  which  the  fountain  sends  forth  returns  again 

to  the  fountain. 
Patience  ;  accomplish  thy  labor  ;  accomplish  thy 

work  of  affection  ! 

Sorrow  and  silence  are    strong,    and  patient  en 
durance  is  godlike. 
Therefore  accomplish  thy  labor  of  love,  till  the 

heart  is  made  godlike, 
Purified,    strengthened,  perfected,   and   rendered 

more  worthy  of  heaven  !  " 
Cheered  by  the  good  man's  words,    Evangeline 

labored  and  waited. 
Still  in  her  heart  she  heard  the  funeral  dirge  of 

the  ocean, 
But  with  its  sound  there  was  mingled  a  voice  that 

whispered,  "  Despair  not  !  " 
Thus    did   that   poor   soul  wander    in  want  and 

cheerless  discomfort, 


90  EVANGKLINE. 

Bleeding,  barefooted,  over  the  shards  and  thorns 
of  existence. 

Let  me  essay,  O  Muse  !  to  follow  the  wanderer's 
footsteps ;  — 

Not  through  each  devious  path,  each  change 
ful  year  of  existence  ; 

But  as  a  traveller  follows  a  streamlet's  course 
through  the  valley  : 

Far  from  its  margin  at  times,  and  seeing  the 
gleam  of  its  water 

Here  and  there,  in  some  open  space,  and  at  in 
tervals  only  ; 

Then  drawing  nearer  its  banks,  through  sylvan 
glooms  that  conceal  it, 

Though  he  behold  it  not,  he  can  hear  its  con 
tinuous  murmur  ; 

Happy,  at  length,  if  he  find  the  spot  where  it 
reaches  an  outlet. 


91 


II. 

IT  was  the  month  of  May.  Far  down  the  Beau 
tiful  River, 

Past  the  Ohio  shore  and  past  the  mouth  of  the 
Wabash, 

Into  the  golden  stream  of  the  broad  and  swift 
Mississippi, 

Floated  a  cumbrous  boat,  that  was  rowed  by 
Acadian  boatmen. 

It  was  a  band  of  exiles  :  a  raft,  as  it  were,  from 
the  shipwrecked 

Nation,  scattered  along  the  coast,  now  floating 
together, 


92  EVANGELINE. 

Bound  by  the  bonds  of  a  common  belief  and  a 

common  misfortune  ; 
Men   and  women  and  children,  who,  guided  by 

hope  or  by  hearsay, 
Sought  for   their   kith   and  their    kin  among  the 

few-acred  farmers 
On   the   Acadian  coast,   and  the  prairies  of  fair 

Opelousas. 
With  them  Evangeline  went,  and  her  guide,  the 

Father  Felician. 
Onward  o'er  sunken  sands,  through  a  wilderness 

sombre  with  forests, 
Day  after  day  they  glided    adown  the   turbulent 

river  ; 

Night    after   night,    by    their   blazing    fires,    en 
camped  on  its  borders. 
Now  through  rushing  chutes,  among  green  islands, 

where    plumelike 
Cotton-trees   nodded   their  shadowy  crests,   they 

swept  with  the  current, 


EVANGEL  I  NE.  93 

Then  emerged  into  broad  lagoons,  where  silvery 

sand-bars 
Lay  in  the  stream,  and  along  the  vvimphng  waves 

of  their  margin, 

Shining  with  snow-white  plumes,  large  flocks  of 

f 

pelicans  waded. 
Level  the  landscape  grew,  and  along  the  shores 

of  the  river, 
Shaded  by  china-trees,  in  the  midst  of  luxuriant 

gardens, 
Stood  the  houses  of  planters,  with  negro-cabins 

and  dove-cots. 
They  were  approaching  the  region  where  reigns 

perpetual  summer, 
Where  through   the  Golden  Coast,   and    groves 

of  orange  and  citron, 
Sweeps  with  majestic  curve  the   river   away  to 

the  eastward. 

They,  too,  swerved  from  their  course  ;  and,  en 
tering  the  Bayou  of  Plaquemine, 


94  EVANGELINE. 

Soon  were  lost  in  a  maze  of  sluggish  and  devious 

waters, 
Which,    like    a   network   of  steel,    extended    in 

every  direction. 
Over    their   heads    the    towering    and    tenebrous 

boughs  of  the  cypress 
Met  in  a  dusky  arch,  and  trailing  mosses  in  mid 

air 
Waved  like  banners  that  hang  on  the  walls   of 

ancient  cathedrals. 
Deathlike  the  silence  seemed,  and  unbroken,  save 

by  the  herons 
Home  to  their  roosts  in  the  cedar-trees  returning 

at  sunset, 
Or  by  the  owl,   as  he    greeted    the  moon  with 

demoniac  laughter. 
Lovely    the    moonlight    was    as    it   glanced  and 

gleamed  on  the  water, 
Gleamed  on   the  columns   of  cypress  and  cedar 

sustaining  the  arches, 


EVANGELINE.  95 

Down    through   whose   broken    vaults    it  fell  as 

through  chinks  in  a  ruin. 
Dreamlike,   and    indistinct,  and  strange  were  all 

things  around  them  ; 
And    o'er   their  spirits  there  came  a  feeling  of 

wonder  and  sadness,  — 

Strange  forebodings  of  ill,  unseen  and  that  can 
not  be  compassed. 
As,  at  the  tramp  of  a  horse's  hoof  on  the  turf  of 

the  prairies, 
Far   in    advance    are    closed   the  leaves    of  the 

shrinking  mimosa, 
So,  at  the  hoof-beats  of  fate,  with  sad  forebodings 

of  evil, 
Shrinks  and  closes  the  heart,  ere  the  stroke  of 

doom  has  attained  it. 
But  Evangeline's  heart  was  sustained  by  a  vision, 

that  faintly 
Floated  before  her   eyes,    and  beckoned  her  on 

through  the  moonlight. 


96  EVANGELINE. 

Ii  was  the  thought  of  her  brain  that  assumed  the 
shape  of  a  phantom. 

Through  those  shadowy  aisles  had  Gabriel  wan 
dered  before  her, 

And  every  stroke  of  the  oar  now  brought  him 
nearer  and  nearer. 


Then  in   his  place,  at  the  prow  of  the  boat, 

rose  one  of  the  oarsmen, 
And,  as  a  signal  sound,  if  others  like  them  per- 

adventure 
Sailed   on   those    gloomy   and  midnight  streams, 

blew  a  blast  on  his  bugle. 
Wild  through  the  dark  colonnades  and  corridors 

leafy  the  blast  rang, 
Breaking  the  seal  of  silence,  and  giving  tongues 

to  the  forest. 
Soundless   above  them  the  banners  of  moss  just 

stirred  to  the  music. 


EVANGELINE.  97 

Multitudinous  echoes  awoke  and  died  in  the 
distance, 

Over  the  watery  floor,  and  beneath  the  rever 
berant  branches  ; 

But  not  a  voice  replied  ;  no  answer  came  from 

f 

the  darkness  ; 

And  when  the  echoes  had  ceased,  like  a  sense 

of  pain  was  the  silence. 
Then  Evangeline  slept  ;  but  the  boatmen  rowed 

through  the  midnight, 
Silent  at  times,  and  then  singing  familiar  Canadian 

boat-songs, 
Such  as  they  sang  of  old  on  their  own  Acadian 

rivers. 
And  through  the  night  were  heard  the  mysterious 

sounds  of  the  desert, 
Far    off,    indistinct,    as   of  wave  or  wind  in  the 

forest, 
Mixed  with  the  whoop  of  the  crane  and  the  roar 

of  the  grim  alligator. 


98  EVANGELINE. 

Thus  ere  another  noon  they  emerged  from 
those  shades  ;  and  before  them 

Lay,  in  the  golden  sun,  the  lakes  of  the  Atcha- 
falaya. 

Water-lilies  in  myriads  rocked  on  the  slight  undu 
lations 

Made  by  the  passing  oars,  and,  resplendent  in 
beauty,  the  lotus 

Lifted  her  golden  crown  above  the  heads  of  the 
boatmen. 

Faint  was  the  air  with  the  odorous  breath  of  mag 
nolia  blossoms, 

And  with  the  heat  of  noon  ;  and  numberless  syl 
van  islands, 

Fragrant  and  thickly  embowered  with  blossoming 
hedges  of  roses, 

Near  to  whose  shores  they  glided  along,  invited  to 
slumber. 

Soon  by  the  fairest  of  these  their  weary  oars  were 
suspended. 


EVANGELINE.  99 

Under  the  boughs  of  Wachita  willows,  that  grew 
by  the  margin, 

Safely  their  boat  was  moored  ;  and  scattered 
about  on  the  greensward, 

Tired  with  their  midnight  toil,  the  weary  trav 
ellers  slumbered. 

Over  them  vast  and  high  extended  the  cope  of  a 
cedar. 

Swinging  from  its  great  arms,  the  trumpet-flower 
and  the  grape-vine 

Hung  their  ladder  of  ropes  aloft  like  the  ladder 
of  Jacob, 

On  whose  pendulous  stairs  the  angels  ascending, 
descending, 

Were  the  swift  humming-birds,  that  flitted  from 
blossom  to  blossom. 

Such  was  the  vision  Evangeline  saw  as  she  slum 
bered  beneath  it. 

Filled  was  her  heart  with  love,  and  the  dawn  of 
an  opening  heaven 


100  EVANGEL1NE. 

Lighted   her    soul   in   sleep    with    the    glory    of 
regions  celestial. 


Nearer  and  ever  nearer,  among  the  numberless 

islands, 
Darted  a  light,  swift  boat,  that  sped  away  o'er 

the  water, 
Urged  on  its  course  by  the  sinewy  arms  of  hunters 

and  trappers. 
Northward  its  prow  was  turned,  to  the  land  of 

the  bison  and  beaver. 
At   the    helm    sat    a    youth,    with    countenance 

thoughtful  and  careworn. 
Dark  and  neglected  locks  overshadowed  his  brow, 

and  a  sadness 
Somewhat   beyond   his   years   on    his    face    was 

legibly  written. 
Gabriel  was  it,  who,  weary  with  waiting,  unhappy 

and  restless, 


EVANGELINE.  101 

Sought  in  the  Western  wilds  oblivion  of  self  and 

of  sorrow. 
Swiftly  they  glided  along,  close  under  the  lee  of 

the  island, 
But  by  the  opposite  bank,  and  behind  a  screen 

,» 

of  palmettos, 

So  that  they  saw  not  the  boat,  where  it  lay  con 
cealed  in  the  willows, 

And  undisturbed  by  the  dash  of  their  oars,  and 
unseen,  were  the  sleepers  ; 

Angel  of  God  was  there  none  to  awaken  the 
slumbering  maiden. 

Swiftly  they  glided  away,  like  the  shade  of  a 
cloud  on  the  prairie. 

After  the  sound  of  their  oars  on  the  tholes  had 
died  in  the  distance, 

As  from  a  magic  trance  the  sleepers  awoke,  and 
the  maiden 

Said  with  a  sigh  to  the  friendly  priest,  —  "  O  Fa 
ther  Felician  ! 


102  EVANGELINE. 

Something  says  in  my  heart  that  near  me  Gabriel 

wanders. 

Is  it  a  foolish  dream,  an  idle  and  vague  super 
stition  ? 
Or  has  an  angel  passed,  and  revealed  the  truth  to 

my  spirit  ? " 
Then,  with  a  blush,  she  added,  —  "  Alas  for  my 

credulous  fancy  ! 
Unto  ears  like  thine  such  words  as  these  have  no 

meaning." 
But   made    answer   the    reverend   man,    and   he 

smiled  as  he  answered,  — 
"  Daughter,  thy  words  are  not  idle  ;  nor  are  they 

to  me  without  meaning. 
Feeling  is  deep  and  still ;  and  the  word  that  floats 

on  the  surface 
Is  as   the  tossing  buoy,   that  betrays  where  the 

anchor  is  hidden. 
Therefore   trust   to  thy  heart,   and   to  what  the 

world  calls  illusions. 


EVANGELINE.  103 

Gabriel  truly  is  near  thee  ;  for  not  far  away  to 

the  southward, 
On  the  banks  of  the  Teche,  are  the  towns  of  St. 

Maur  and  St.  Martin. 

There   the   long-wandering   bride   shall  be   given 
f 
again  to  her  bridegroom, 

There  the  long-absent  pastor  regain  his  flock  and 

his  sheepfold. 
Beautiful  is  the  land,  with  its  prairies  and  forests 

of  fruit-trees  ; 
Under  the  feet  a  garden  of  flowers,  and  the  bluest 

of  heavens 
Bending  above,  and  resting  its  dome  on  the  walls 

of  the  forest. 
They  who  dwell  there  have  named  it  the  Eden 

of  Louisiana." 


And  with  these  words  of  cheer  they  arose  and 
continued  their  journey. 


104  EVANGELINE. 

Softly  the    evening    came.     The   sun    from  the 

western  horizon 
Like  a  magician  extended  his  golden  wand  o'er 

the  landscape  ; 
Twinkling  vapors  arose  ;  and  sky  and  water  and 

forest 
Seemed  all  on  fire  at  the  touch,  and  melted  and 

mingled  together. 
Hanging  between  two  skies,  a  cloud  with  edges 

of  silver, 
Floated  the  boat,  with  its  dripping  oars,  on  the 

motionless  water. 
Filled  was  Evangeline's  heart  with  inexpressible 

sweetness. 
Touched  by  the  magic  spell,  the  sacred  fountains 

of  feeling 
Glowed  with  the  light  of  love,  as  the  skies  and 

waters  around  her. 

Then  from  a  neighbouring  thicket  the   mocking 
bird,  wildest  of  singers, 


EVANGELINE.  105 

Swinging  aloft  on  a  willow  spray  that  hung  o'er 
the  water, 

Shook  from  his  little  throat  such  floods  of  de 
lirious  music, 

That  the  whole  air  and  the  woods  and  the  waves 

f 

seemed  silent  to  listen. 
Plaintive  at  first  were  the  tones  and  sad  ;  then 

soaring  to  madness 
Seemed   they  to    follow   or  guide  the  revel  of 

frenzied  Bacchantes. 
Then  single  notes  were  heard,  in  sorrowful,  low 

lamentation  ; 
Till,   having  gathered  them    all,    he    flung  them 

abroad  in  derision, 
As  when,  after  a  storm,  a  gust  of  wind  through 

the  tree-tops 
Shakes  down  the  rattling  rain  in  a  crystal  shower 

on  the  branches. 
With    such   a   prelude    as   this,  and   hearts   that 

throbbed  with  emotion, 


106  EVANGELINE. 

Slowly  they  entered  the  Teche,  where  it  flows 
through  the  green  Opelousas, 

And  through  the  amber  air,  above  the  crest  of 
the  woodland, 

Saw  the  column  of  smoke  that  arose  from  a  neigh 
bouring  dwelling  ;  — 

Sounds  of  a  horn  they  heard,  and  the  distant 
lowing  of  cattle. 


107 


III. 

NEAR  to  the  bank  of  the  river,  o'ershadowed  by 
oaks,  from  whose  branches 

Garlands  of  Spanish  moss  and  of  mystic  mistle 
toe  flaunted, 

Such  as  the  Druids  cut  down  with  golden  hatch 
ets  at  Yule-tide, 

Stood,  secluded  and  still,  the  house  of  the  herds 
man.  A  garden 

Girded  it  round  about  with  a  belt  of  luxuriant 
blossoms, 

Filling  the  air  with  fragrance.  The  house  itself 
\vas  of  timbers 


108  EVANGELINE. 

Hewn  from  the  cypress-tree,  and  carefully  fitted 
together. 

Large  and  low  was  the  roof ;  and  on  slender 
columns  supported, 

Rose-wreathed,  vine-encircled,  a  broad  and  spa 
cious  veranda, 

Haunt  of  the  humming-bird  and  the  bee,  extend 
ed  around  it. 

At  each  end  of  the  house,  amid  the  flowers  of 
the  garden, 

Stationed  the  dove-cots  were,  as  love's  perpetual 
symbol, 

Scenes  of  endless  wooing,  and  endless  conten 
tions  of  rivals. 

Silence  reigned  o'er  the  place.  The  line  of 
shadow  and  sunshine 

Ran  near  the  lops  of  the  trees  ;  but  the  house 
itself  was  in  shadow, 

And  from  its  chimney-top,  ascending  and  slowly 
expanding 


EVANGELINE.  109 

Into  the  evening  air,  a  thin  blue  column  of  smoke 

rose. 
In  the  rear  of  the  house,  from  the  garden  gate, 

ran  a  pathway 
Through  the  great  groves  of  oak  to  the  skirts  of 

*lhe  limitless  prairie, 
Into    \vhose  sea  of  flowers   the    sun  was  slowly 

descending. 
Full  in  his  track  of  light,  like  ships  with  shadowy 

canvas 
Hanging  loose   from  their  spars  in  a  motionless 

calm  in  the  tropics, 
Stood  a  cluster  of  cotton-trees,  with  cordage  of 

grape-vines. 


Just  where  the  woodlands  met  the  flowery  surf 

of  the  prairie, 

Mounted  upon  his  horse,  with  Spanish  saddle  and 
stirrups, 


110  EVANGELINE. 

Sat  a  herdsman,  arrayed  in  gaiters  and  doublet 

of  deerskin. 
Broad  and  brown  was  the  face  that  from  under 

the  Spanish  sombrero 
Gazed  on  the  peaceful  scene,  with  the  lordly  look 

of  its  master. 
Round  about  him  were  numberless  herds  of  kine, 

that  were  grazing 

Quietly  in   the  meadows,  and  breathing  the   va 
pory  freshness 
That  uprose  from  the  river,    and   spread   itself 

over  the  landscape. 
Slowly  lifting  the  horn  that  hung  at  his  side,  and 

expanding 
Fully  his  broad,  deep  chest,  he  blew  a  blast,  that 

resounded 
Wildly  and  sweet  and  far,  through  the  still  damp 

air  of  the  evening. 
Suddenly  out  of  the  grass  the  long  white  horns 

of  the  cattle 


EVANGELINE.  Ill 

Rose  like  flakes  of  foam  on  the  adverse  currents 

of  ocean. 
Silent    a    moment    they   gazed,    then   bellowing 

rushed  o'er  the  prairie, 
And  the  whole  mass  became  a  cloud,  a  shade  in 

the  distance. 
Then,    as    the   herdsman    turned   to    the    house, 

through  the  gate  of  the  garden 
Saw  he  the  forms  of  the  priest  and  the  maiden 

advancing  to  meet  him. 
Suddenly    down    from   his    horse    he    sprang    in 

amazement,  and  forward 
Rushed  with  extended  arms  and  exclamations  of 

wonder  ; 
When    they    beheld    his    face,    they  recognized 

Basil  the  Blacksmith. 
Hearty  his  welcome  was,  as  he  led  his  guests  to 

the  garden. 
There  in  an  arbour  of  roses  with  endless  question 

and  answer 


112 


EVANGELINE. 


Gave  they  vent  to  their  hearts,  and  renewed  their 

friendly  embraces, 
Laughing  and  weeping  by  turns,  or  sitting  silent 

and  thoughtful. 
Thoughtful,  for  Gabriel  came  not  ;  and  now  dark 

doubts  and  misgivings 

Stole  o'er  the  maiden's  heart ;  and  Basil,  some 
what  embarrassed, 
Broke  the  silence  and  said,  —  "If  you  came  by 

the  Atchafalaya, 
How  have  you  nowhere  encountered  my  Gabriel's 

boat  on  the  bayous  ?  " 
Over  Evangeline's  face  at  the  words  of  Basil  a 

shade  passed. 
Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  said,  with  a 

tremulous  accent,  — 
"  Gone  ?  is  Gabriel  gone  ?  "  and,  concealing  her 

face  on  his  shoulder, 
All  her  o'erburdened   heart  gave    way,  and  she 

wept  and  lamented. 


EVANGELINE.  113 

Then  the  good  Basil  said,  —  and  his  voice  grew 

hlithe  as  he  said  it,  — 
"  Be  of  good  cheer,  my  child  ;  it  is  only  to-day 

he  departed. 
Foolish  boy  !  he  has  left  me  alone  with  my  herds 

n 

and  my  horses. 
Moody  and  restless  grown,  and  tried  and  troubled, 

his  spirit 
Could   no   longer  endure  the  calm   of  this  quiet 

existence. 
Thinking  ever  of  thee,  uncertain  and   sorrowful 

ever, 
Ever  silent,    or    speaking  only   of  thee   and  his 

troubles, 
He  at  length  had  become  so  tedious  to  men  and 

to  maidens, 
Tedious  even  to  me,  that  at  length  I  bethought 

me,  and  sent  him 
Unto  the  town  of  Adayes  to  trade  for  mules  with 

the  Spaniards. 
8 


114  EVANGELINL. 

Thence  he  will   follow  the  Indian   trails   to   the 

Ozark  Mountains, 
Hunting  for  furs  in  the  forests,  on  rivers  trapping 

the  beaver. 
Therefore  be  of  good  cheer  ;  we  will  follow  the 

fugitive  lover  ; 
He  is  not  far  on  his  way,  and  the  Fates  and  the 

streams  are  against  him. 
Up  and  away  to-morrow,    and  through  the  red 

dew  of  the  morning 
We  will  follow  him  fast,  and  bring  him  back  to 

his  prison." 


Then  glad  voices  were  heard,  and  up  from  the 

banks  of  the  river, 
Borne  aloft  on  his  comrades'  arms,  came  Michael 

the  fiddler. 
Long  under  Basil's  roof  had  he  lived  like  a  god 

on  Olympus, 


EVANGELINE.  115 

Having  no  other  care  than  dispensing  music  to 

mortals. 
Far  renowned  was  he  for  his  silver  locks  and  his 

fiddle. 
"Long  live  Michael,"  they  cried,    "our  brave 

Acadian  minstrel  !  " 
As  they  bore  him  aloft  in  triumphal  procession  ; 

and  straightway 

Father  Felician  advanced  with  Evangeline,  greet 
ing  the  old  man 
Kindly    and   oft,    and   recalling   the   past,    while 

Basil,  enraptured, 
Hailed  with  hilarious  joy  his  old  companions  and 

gossips, 
Laughing  loud  and  long,  and  embracing  mothers 

and  daughters. 
Much  they  marvelled  to  see    the  wealth  of  the 

ci-devant  blacksmith, 
All  his  domains  and  his  herds,  and  his  patriarchal 

demeanour  ; 


116  EVANGELINE. 

Much  they  marvelled  to  hear  his  tales  of  the  soil 

and  the  climate, 
And  of  the  prairies,  whose  numberless  herds  were 

his  who  would  take  them  ; 
Each  one  thought  in  his  heart,  that  he,  too,  would 

go  and  do  likewise. 
Thus  they  ascended  the  steps,  and,  crossing  the 

airy  veranda. 
Entered  the  hall  of  the  house,  where  already  the 

supper  of  Basil 
Waited   his  late   return  ;    and   they   rested    and 

feasted  together. 


Over    the  joyous    feast   the    sudden    darkness 

descended. 
All  was  silent  without,  and,  illuming  the  landscape 

with  silver, 
Fair  rose  the  dewy  moon  and  the  myriad  stars  ; 

but  within  doors, 


EVANGELINE.  117 

Brighter  than  these,  shone  the  faces  of  friends  in 

the  glimmering  lamplight. 
Then  from  his   station  aloft,  at  the  head  of  the 

table,  the  herdsman 
Poured  forth  his  heart  and  his  wine  together  in 

endless  profusion. 
Lighting   his    pipe,    that   was   rilled   with    sweet 

Natchitoches  tobacco, 
Thus  he  spake  to  his  guests,  who  listened,  and 

smiled  as  they  listened  :  — 
"  Welcome  once  more,  my  friends,  who  so  long 

have  been  friendless  and  homeless, 
Welcome  once  more  to  a  home,  that  is  better 

perchance  than  the  old  one  ! 
Here  no  hungry  winter  congeals    our   blood    like 

the  rivers  ; 
Here  no  stony  ground  provokes  the  wrath  of  the 

farmer. 
Smoothly  the  ploughshare  runs  through  the  soil, 

as  a  keel  through  the  water. 


118  EVANGELINE. 

All  the  year  round  the  orange-groves  are  in  blos 
som  ;  and  grass  grows 

More  in  a  single  night  than  a  whole  Canadian 
summer. 

Here,  too,  numberless  herds  run  wild  and  un 
claimed  in  the  prairies  ; 

Here,  too,  lands  may  be  had  for  the  asking,  and 
forests  of  timber 

With  a  few  blows  of  the  axe  are  hewn  and  framed 
into  houses. 

After  your  houses  are  built,  and  your  fields  are 
yellow  with  harvests, 

No  King  George  of  England  shall  drive  you  away 
from  your  homesteads, 

Burning  your  dwellings  and  barns,  and  stealing 
your  farms  and  your  cattle." 

Speaking  these  words,  he  blew  a  wrathful  cloud 
from  his  nostrils, 

And  his  huge,  brawny  hand  came  thundering 
down  on  the  table, 


EVANGEL  INK.  119 

So  that  the  guests  all  started  ;  and  Father  Feli- 

cian,  astounded, 
Suddenly  paused,  with  a  pinch  of  snuff  half-way 

to  his  nostrils. 
But  the  brave  Basil  resumed,  and  his  words  were 

*  milder  and  gayer  :  — 
"  Only  beware  of  the  fever,  my  friends,  beware 

of  the  fever  ! 
For   it   is    not   like    that   of  our    cold    Acadian 

climate, 
Cured  by  wearing  a  spider  hung  round  one's  neck 

in  a  nutshell  !  " 
Then  there  were  voices  heard  at  the  door,  and 

footsteps  approaching 
Sounded   upon   the    stairs  and   the    floor  of  the 

breezy  veranda. 

It  was  the  neighbouring  Creoles  and  small  Aca 
dian  planters, 
Who  had  been   summoned  all  to  the  house    of 

Basil  the  Herdsman. 


120  EVANGEL1NE. 

Merry  the  meeting  was  of  ancient  comrades 
and  neighbours  : 

Friend  clasped  friend  in  his  arms  ;  and  they  who 
before  were  as  strangers, 

Meeting  in  exile,  became  straightway  as  friends 
to  each  other, 

Drawn  by  the  gentle  bond  of  a  common  country 
together. 

But  in  the  neighbouring  hall  a  strain  of  music, 
proceeding 

From  the  accordant  strings  of  Michael's  melo 
dious  fiddle, 

Broke  up  all  further  speech.  Away,  like  chil 
dren  delighted, 

All  things  forgotten  beside,  they  gave  themselves 
to  the  maddening 

Whirl  of  the  dizzy  dance,  as  it  swept  and  swayed 
to  the  music, 

Dreamlike,  with  beaming  eyes  and  the  rush  of 
fluttering  garments. 


EVANGELINE.  121 

Meanwhile,  apart,  at  the  head  of  the  hall,  the 

priest  and  the  herdsman 

Sat,  conversing  together  of  past  and  present  and 
future  ; 

While  Evanceline  stood  like  one  entranced,  for 

f 

within  her 

Olden  memories  rose,  and  loud  in  the  midst  of 
the  music 

Heard  she  the  sound  of  the  sea,  and  an  irrepress 
ible  sadness 

Came  o'er  her  heart,  and  unseen  she  stole  forth 
into  the  garden. 

Beautiful  was  the  night.  Behind  the  black  wall 
of  the  forest, 

Tipping  its  summit  with  silver,  arose  the  moon. 
On  the  river 

Fell  here  and  there  through  the  branches  a  tremu 
lous  gleam  of  the  moonlight, 

Like  the  sweet  thoughts  of  love  on  a  darkened 
and  devious  spirit. 


122  EVANGELINE. 

Nearer  and  round  about  her,  the  manifold  flowers 
of  the  garden 

Poured  out  their  souls  in  odors,  that  were  then- 
prayers  and  confessions 

Unto  the  night,  as  it  went  its  way,  like  a  silent 
Carthusian. 

Fuller  of  fragrance  than  they,  and  as  heavy  with 
shadows  and  night-dews, 

Hung  the  heart  of  the  maiden.  The  cairn  and 
the  magical  moonlight 

Seemed  to  inundate  her  soul  with  indefinable  long 
ings, 

As,  through  the  garden  gate,  beneath  the  brown 
shade  of  the  oak-trees, 

Passed  she  along  the  path  to  the  edge  of  the 
measureless  prairie. 

Silent  it  lay,  with  a  silvery  haze  upon  it,  and 
fire-flies 

Gleaming  and  floating  away  in  mingled  and  in 
finite  numbers. 


EVANGELINE.  123 

Over  her  head  the  stars,  the  thoughts  of  God  in 

the  heavens, 
Shone  on  the  eyes  of  man,  who  had  ceased  to 

marvel  and  worship, 
Save  when  a  blazing  comet  was  seen  on  the  walls 

of  that  temple, 
As  if  a  hand  had  appeared  and  written  upon  them, 

"  Upharsin." 
And  the  soul  of  the  maiden,  between  the  stars 

and  the  fire-flies, 
Wandered  alone,  and  she  cried,  —  "  O  Gabriel  ! 

O  my  beloved  ! 
Art   thou   so  near   unto   me,    and  yet   I  cannot 

behold  thee  ? 
Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,  and  yet  thy  voice  does 

not  reach  me  ? 
Ah  !  how  often  thy  feet  have  trod  this  path  to 

the  prairie  ! 
Ah  !    how  often  thine  eyes  have  looked  on  the 

woodlands  around  me  ! 


124  EVANGELINE. 

Ah  !  how  often  heneath  this  oak,  returning  from 
labor, 

Thou  hast  lain  down  to  rest,  and  to  dream  of  me 
in  thy  slumbers. 

When  shall  these  eyes  behold,  these  arms  be 
folded  about  thee  ?  " 

Loud  and  sudden  and  near  the  note  of  a  whip- 
poorwill  sounded 

Like  a  flute  in  the  woods  ;  and  anon,  through  the 
neighbouring  thickets, 

Farther  and  farther  away  it  floated  and  dropped 
into  silence. 

"  Patience  !  "  whispered  the  oaks  from  orac 
ular  caverns  of  darkness  ; 

And,  from  the  moonlit  meadow,  a  sigh  respond 
ed,  "  To-morrow  !  " 


Bright  rose   the  sun   next   day ;    and    all    the 
flowers  of  the  garden 


EVANGELINE.  125 

Bathed   his    shining   feet   with    their    tears,    and 

anointed  his  tresses 
With  the  delicious  balm  that  they  bore  in  their 

vases  of  crystal. 
•'  Farewell  !  "  said  the  priest,  as  he  stood  at  the 

*shadowy  threshold  ; 
"  See  that  you  bring  back  the  Prodigal  Son  from 

his  fasting  and  famine, 
And,  too,  the  Foolish  Virgin,  who  slept  when  the 

bridegroom  was  coming." 

"  Farewell  !  "  answered  the  maiden,  and,  smil 
ing,  with  Basil  descended 
Down  to  the  river's  brink,   where  the  boatmen 

already  were  waiting. 
Thus  beginning  their  journey  with  morning,  and 

sunshine,  and  gladness, 
Swiftly  they  followed  the  flight  of  him  who  was 

speeding  before  them, 
Blown  by  the  blast  of  fate  like  a  dead  leaf  over 

the  desert. 


126  EVANGELINE. 

Not  that  day,  nor  the  next,  nor  yet  the  day  that 

succeeded, 
Found  they  trace  of  his  course,   in  lake  or  forest 

or  river, 
Nor,  after  many  days,  had  they  found  him  ;  but 

vague  and  uncertain 
Rumors  alone  were  their  guides  through  a  wild 

and  desolate  country ; 
Till,    at   the  little   inn    of  the    Spanish   town   of 

Adayes, 
Weary  and  worn,  they  alighted,  and  learned  from 

the  garrulous  landlord, 
That  on  the  day  before,   with  horses  and  guides 

and  companions, 
Gabriel  left  the  village,  and  took  the  road  of  the 

prairies. 


127 


IV. 

FAR  in  the  West  there  lies  a  desert  land, 
where  the  mountains 

Lift,  through  perpetual  snows,  their  lofty  and 
luminous  summits. 

Down  from  their  desolate,  deep  ravines,  where 
the  gorge,  like  a  gateway, 

Opens  a  passage  rude  to  the  wheels  of  the  emi 
grant's  wagon, 

Westward  the  Oregon  flows  and  the  Walleway 
and  Owyhee. 

Eastward,  with  devious  course,  among  the  Wind- 
river  Mountains, 


128  EVANGELINE. 

Through  the  Sweet-water  Valley  precipitate  leaps 
the  Nebraska  ; 

And  to  the  south,  from  Fontaine-qui-bout  and  the 
Spanish  sierras, 

Fretted  with  sands  and  rocks,  and  swept  by  the 
wind  of  the  desert, 

Numberless  torrents,  with  ceaseless  sound,  de 
scend  to  the  ocean, 

Like  the  great  chords  of  a  harp,  in  loud  and 
solemn  vibrations. 

Spreading  between  these  streams  are  the  won 
drous,  beautiful  prairies, 

Billowy  bays  of  grass  ever  rolling  in  shadow  and 
sunshine, 

Bright  with  luxuriant  clusters  of  roses  and  purple 
amorphas. 

Over  them  wander  the  buffalo  herds,  and  the  elk 
and  the  roebuck  ; 

Over  them  wander  the  wolves,  and  herds  of  rider 
less  horses  ; 


EVANGELINE.  129 

Fires  that  blast  and  blight,  and  winds   that  are 

weary  with  travel  ; 
Over   them  wander  the  scattered  tribes  of  Ish- 

mael's  children, 
Staining  the  desert  with  blood  ;  and  above  their 

terrible  war-trails 
Circles  and  sails  aloft,  on  pinions  majestic,  the 

vulture, 

Like    the   implacable  soul  of  a  chieftain  slaugh 
tered  in  battle, 
By   invisible   stairs    ascending    and    scaling    the 

heavens. 
Here  and  there  rise  smokes  from  the  camps  of 

these  savage  marauders  ; 
Here  and  there  rise  groves  from  the  margins  of 

swift-running  rivers  ; 
And  the  grim,   taciturn  bear,  the  anchorite  monk 

of  the  desert, 
Climbs  down  their  dark  ravines  to  dig  for  roots 

by  the  brook-side, 


130  EVANGELINE. 

And  over  all  is  the  sky,  the  clear  and  crystalline 

heaven, 
Like  the  protecting  hand  of  God  inverted  above 

them. 


Into   this   wonderful  land,   at  the  hase  of  the 

Ozark  Mountains, 

Gabriel  far  had  entered,  with  hunters   and  trap 
pers  behind  him. 
Day    after   day,    with   their    Indian   guides,    the 

maiden  and  Basil 
Followed  his  flying  steps,  and  thought  each  day 

to  o'ertake  him. 
Sometimes  they  saw,   or  thought  they  saw,  the 

smoke  of  his  camp-fire 
Rise  in   the  morning  air  from  the  distant  plain ; 

but  at  nightfall, 
When  they  had  reached  the  place,  they  found 

only  embers  and  ashes. 


EVANGELINE.  131 

And,  though  their  hearts  were  sad  at  times  and 

their  bodies  were  weary, 
Hope    still  guided  them  on,  as  the   magic  Fata 

Morgana 
Showed  them  her  lakes  of  light,  that  retreated  and 

vanished  before  them. 


Once,  as  they  sat  by  their  evening  fire,  there 

silently  entered 
Into    the    little    camp   an   Indian  woman,  whose 

features 
Wore    deep    traces   of  sorrow,    and  patience  as 

great  as  her  sorrow. 
She  was   a  Shawnee  woman  returning  home  to 

her  people, 
From    the    far-off  hunting-grounds  of  the    cruel 

Camanches, 
Where    her    Canadian  husband,  a  Coureur-des- 

Bois,  had  been  murdered. 


132  EVANGELINB. 

Touched  were  their  hearts  at  her  story,  and 
warmest  and  friendliest  welcome 

Gave  they,  with  words  of  cheer,  and  she  sat  and 
feasted  amons:  them 

o 

On  the  buffalo-meat  and  the  venison  cooked  on 

the  embers. 
But  when  their  meal  was  done,  and  Basil  and  all 

his  companions, 
Worn  with  the  long  day's  march  and  the  chase 

of  the  deer  and  the  bison, 
Stretched  themselves    on  the  ground,  and   slept 

where  the  quivering  fire-light 
Flashed  on  their  swarthy  cheeks,  and  their  forms 

wrapped  up  in  their  blankets, 
Then  at  the  door   of  Evangeline's    tent  she  sat 

and  repeated 
Slowly,  with  soft,   low  voice,  and  the  charm  of 

her  Indian  accent, 
All  the  tale  of  her  love,  with  its  pleasures,  and 

pains,  and  reverses. 


EVANGEL1NE.  133 

Much  Evangeline  wept  at  the  tele,  and  to  know 
that  another 

Hapless  heart  like  her  own  had  loved  and  had 
been  disappointed. 

Moved  lo  the  depths  of  her  soul  by  pity  and 
woman's  compassion, 

Yet  in  her  sorrow  pleased  that  one  who  had 
suffered  was  near  her, 

She  in  turn  related  her  love  and  all  its  disas 
ters. 

Mute  with  wonder  the  Shawnee  sat,  and  \\hen 
she  had  ended 

Still  was  mute  ;  but  at  length,  as  if  a  mysterious 
horror 

Passed  through  her  brain,  she  spake,  and  re 
peated  the  tale  of  the  Mowis  ; 

Mowis,  the  bridegroom  of  snow,  who  won  and 
wedded  a  maiden, 

But,  when  the  morning  came,  arose  and  passed 
from  the  wigwam. 


134  EVANGELINE. 

Fading  and  melting  away  and  dissolving  into  the 

sunshine, 
Till  she  beheld  him  no  more,  though  she  followed 

far  into  the  forest. 
Then,  in   those  sweet,  low    tones,  that    seemed 

like  a  weird  incantation, 
Told  she  the  tale  of  the  fair  Lilinau,   who  was 

wooed  by  a  phantom, 
That,  through  the  pines  o'er  her  father's  lodge, 

in  the  hush  of  the  twilight, 
Breathed  like  the  evening  wind,    and  whispered 

love  to  the  maiden, 
Till    she   followed  his    green   and  waving  plume 

through  the  forest, 
And  never  more  returned,  nor  was  seen  again  by 

her  people. 
Silent  with  wonder  and  strange  surprise,    Evan- 

geline  listened 
To  the  soft  flow  of  her  magical  words,  till  the 

region  around  her 


EVANGELINE.  135 

Seemed  like  enchanted  ground,  and  her  swarthy 

guest  the  enchantress. 
Slowly  over  the  tops  of  the  Ozark  Mountains  the 

moon  rose, 

Lighting    the    little   tent,   and   with  a  mysterious 
* 
splendor 

Touching  the  sombre  leaves,  and  embracing  and 

filling  the  woodland. 
With  a  delicious  sound  the  brook  rushed  by,  and 

the  branches 
Swayed  and  sighed  overhead  in  scarcely  audible 

whispers. 
Filled  with  the  thoughts  of  love  was  Evangeline's 

heart,  but  a  secret, 
Subtile    sense    crept   in   of    pain    and    indefinite 

terror, 
As  the  cold,  poisonous  snake  creeps  into  the  nest 

of  the  swallow. 
It  was  no  earthly  fear.     A  breath  from  the  region 

of  spirits 


136  EVANGELINE. 

Seemed  to  float  in  the  air  of  night  ;  and  she  felt 
for  a  moment 

That,  like  the  Indian  maid,  she,  too,  was  pur 
suing  a  phantom. 

And  with  this  thought  she  slept,  and  the  fear  and 
the  phantom  had  vanished. 


Early  upon  the  morrow  the  march  was  re 
sumed  ;  and  the  Shawnee 

Said,  as  they  journeyed  along, —  "  On  the  west 
ern  slope  of  these  mountains 

Dwells  in  his  little  village  the  Black  Rohe  chief 
of  the  Mission. 

Much  he  teaches  the  people,  and  tells  them  of 
Mary  and  Jesus ; 

Loud  laugh  their  hearts  with  joy,  and  weep  with 
pain,  as  they  hear  him." 

Then,  with  a  sudden  and  secret  emotion,  Evan- 
geline  answered,  — 


EVANGELINE.  137 

u  Let  us  go  to  the  Mission,  for  there  good  tidings 

await  us  !  " 
Thither  they  turned  their  steeds  ;  and  behind  a 

spur  of  the  mountains, 

Just  as  the  sun  went  down,  they  hjeard  a  murmur 

f 

of  voices, 
And  in  a  meadow  green  and  broad,  by  the  bank 

of  a  river, 
Saw  the  tents  of  the  Christians,  the  tents  of  the 

Jesuit  Mission. 
Under  a  towering  oak,  that  stood  in  the  midst  of 

the  village, 
Knelt  the  Black  Robe   chief  with  his  children. 

A  crucifix  fastened 
High  on  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  overshadowed 

by  grape-vines, 
Looked  with  its  agonized  face  on  the  multitude 

kneeling  beneath  it. 
This  was  their  rural  chapel.      Aloft,  through  the 

intricate  arches 


138  EVANGELINE. 

Of  its  aerial  roof,  arose  the  chant  of  their  ves 
pers, 

Mingling  its  notes  with  the  soft  susurrus  and  sighs 
of  the  branches. 

Silent,  with  heads  uncovered,  the  travellers,  near 
er  approaching, 

Knelt  on  the  swarded  floor,  and  joined  in  the 
evening  devotions. 

But  when  the  service  was  done,  and  the  benedic 
tion  had  fallen 

From  the  hands  of  the  priest,  like  seed  from  the 
hands  of  the  sower, 

Slowly  the  reverend  man  advanced  to  the  stran 
gers,  and  bade  them 

Welcome  ;  and  when  they  replied,  he  smiled  with 
benignant  expression, 

Hearing  the  homelike  sounds  of  his  mother- 
tongue  in  the  forest, 

And  with  words  of  kindness  conducted  them  into 
his  wigwam. 


EVANGELIJNE.  139 

There  upon  mats  and  skins  they  reposed,  and  on 
cakes  of  the  maize-ear 

Feasted,  and  slaked  their  thirst  from  the  water- 
gourd  of  the  teacher. 

Soo^  was  their  story  told  ;  and  the  priest  with 
solemnity  answered  :  — 

"  Not  six  suns  have  risen  and  set  since  Gabriel, 
seated 

On  this  mat  by  my  side,  where  now  the  maiden 
reposes, 

Told  me  this  same  sad  tale  ;  then  arose  and  con 
tinued  his  journey  !  " 

Soft  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and  he  spake 
with  an  accent  of  kindness  ; 

But  on  Evangeline's  heart  fell  his  words  as  in 
winter  the  snow-flakes 

Fall  into  some  lone  nest  from  which  the  birds 
have  departed. 

"  Far  to  the  north  he  has  gone,"  continued  the 
priest  ;  "  but  in  autumn, 


140  EVANGELINE. 

When  the  chase  is  done,  will  return  again  to  the 

Mission." 
Then  Evangeline  said,  and  her  voice  was  meek 

and  submissive,  — 
"  Let  me  remain  with  thee,  for  my  soul  is  sad 

and  afflicted." 
So  seemed  it  wise  and  well  unto  all ;  and  betimes 

on  the  morrow, 
Mounting   his    Mexican    steed,    with   his    Indian 

guides  and  companions, 
Homeward  Basil  returned,  and  Evangeline  stayed 

at  the  Mission. 


Slowly,   slowly,    slowly    the    days    succeeded 

each  other,  — 
Days  and  weeks  and  months  ;  and  the  fields  of 

maize  that  were  springing 
Green  from  the  ground  when  a  stranger  she  came, 

now  waving  above  her, 


EVANGELINE.  141 

Lifted  their  slender  shafts,  with  leaves  interlacing, 

and  forming 

Cloisters  for  mendicant  crows  and  granaries  pil 
laged  by  squirrels. 
The^p  in  the  golden  weather  the  maize  was  husked, 

and  the  maidens 
Blushed  at  each  blood-red  ear,  for  that  betokened 

a  lover, 
But  at  the  crooked  laughed,  and  called  it  a  thief 

in  the  corn-field. 
Even    the   blood-red   ear  to   Evangeline  brought 

not  her  lover. 
"Patience!"    the    priest    would    say;    "have 

faith,  and  thy  prayer  will  be  answered  ! 
Look  at  this  delicate  flower  that  lifts  its  head  from 

the  meadow, 
See  how  its  leaves  all  point  to  the  north,  as  true 

as  the  magnet  ; 
It  is  the  compass-flower,  that  the  finger  of  God 

has  suspended 


142  EVANGELINE. 

Here  on  its  fragile  stalk,  to  direct  the  traveller's 

journey 
Over   the    sea-like,    pathless,    limitless  waste  of 

the  desert. 
Such  in  the  soul  of  man  is  faith.     The  blossoms 

of  passion, 
Gay  and  luxuriant  flowers,  are  brighter  and  fuller 

of  fragrance, 
But  they  beguile  us,  and  lead  us  astray,  and  their 

odor  is  deadly. 
Only  this  humble  plant   can   guide  us  here,  and 

hereafter 
Crown  us   with   asphodel   flowers,  that  are   wet 

with  the  dews  of  nepenthe." 


So    came    the  autumn,    and   passed,    and    the 

winter,  — yet  Gabriel  came  not ; 
Blossomed   the  opening  spring,  and  the  notes  of 
the  robin  and  blue-bird 


EVANGELINE.  143 

Sounded    sweet    upon   wold   and   in    wood,    yet 

Gabriel  came  not. 
But  on  the  breath  of  the  summer  winds  a  rumor 

was  wafted 
Sweeter  than  song  of  bird,   or  hue  or  odor  of 

blossom. 
Far  to  the  north  and  east,  it  said,  in  the  Michigan 

forests, 
Gabriel  had  his  lodge  by  the  banks  of  the  Sagi- 

naw  river. 
And,  with  returning  guides,  that  sought  the  lakes 

of  St.  Lawrence, 
Saying  a  sad  farewell,  Evangeline  went  from  the 

Mission. 
When   over  weary  ways,  by  long  and  perilous 

marches, 
She   had   attained    at   length  the   depths   of  the 

Michigan  forests, 
Found  she  the  hunter's  lodge  deserted  and  fallen 

to  ruin! 


144  EVANGELINE. 

Thus  did  the  long  sad  years  glide  on,  and  in 

seasons  and  places 
Divers  and  distant  far   was  seen   the  wandering 

maiden  ;  — 
Now  in  the  tents  of  grace  of  the  meek  Moravian 

Missions, 
Now  in  the  noisy  camps  and  the  battle-fields  of 

the  army, 
Now  in  secluded  hamlets,  in  towns  and  populous 

cities. 
Like  a  phantom  she  came,  and  passed  away  un- 

remembered. 
Fair  was  she  and  young,  when  in  hope  began  the 

long  journey  ; 
Faded  was  she  and  old,  when  in  disappointment 

it  ended. 
Each  succeeding  year  stole  something  away  from 

her  beauty, 
Leaving  behind  it,  broader  and  deeper,  the  gloom 

and  the  shadow. 


EVANGELIiNE.  145 

Then  there  appeared  and  spread  faint  streaks  of 

gray  o'er  her  forehead, 
Dawn  of  another  life,  that  broke  o'er  her  earthly 

horizon, 

As  in  the  eastern  sky  the  first  faint  streaks  of  the 
* 
morning. 


10 


147 


V. 


IN   that  delightful  land  whicn  is  washed  by  the 

Delaware's  waters, 
Guarding  in  sylvan  shades  the  name  of  Penn  the 

apostle, 
Stands  on  the  banks   of  its  beautiful  stream  the 

city  he  founded. 
There  all  the  air  is  balm,  and  the  peach  is  the 

emblem  of  beauty. 
And    the   streets  still   reecho  the  names   of  the 

trees  of  the  forest, 
As  if  they  fain  would  appease  the  Dryads  whose 

haunts  they  molested. 


148  EVANGELINE. 

There    from   the    troubled   sea   had    Evangeline 

landed,  an  exile, 
Finding  among  the  children  of  Penn  a  home  and 

a  country. 
There  old  Rene  Leblanc  had  died  ;  and  when  he 

departed, 
Saw   at   his   side    only   one    of   all  his  hundred 

descendants. 
Something   at   least   there   was    in   the    friendly 

streets  of  the  city, 
Something  that  spake  to  her  heart,  and  made  her 

no  longer  a  stranger  ; 
And  her  ear  was    pleased   with   the    Thee   and 

Thou  of  the  Quakers, 

For  it  recalled  the  past,  the  old  Acadian  coun 
try, 
Where  all  men  were  equal,  and  all  were  brothers 

and  sisters. 
So,    when  the  fruitless   search,  the  disappointed 

endeavour, 


EVANGEL1NE.  149 

Ended,  to  recommence  no  more  upon  earth,  un 
complaining, 
Thither,  as  leaves  to  the  light,  were  turned  her 

thoughts  and  her  footsteps. 
As  from  a  mountain's  top  the  rainy  mists  of  the 

morning 
Roll    away,    and    afar   we  behold  the   landscape 

below  us, 
Sun-illumined,  with  shining  rivers  and  cities  and 

hamlets, 
So  fell  the  mists  from  her  mind,  and  she  saw  the 

world  far  below  her, 
Dark  no  longer,  but  all  illumined  with  love  ;  and 

the  pathway 
Which  she  had  climbed  so  far,  lying  smooth  and 

fair  in  the  distance. 
Gabriel  was  not  forgotten.     Within  her  heart  was 

his  image, 
Clothed  in  the  beauty  of  love  and  youth,  as  last 

she  beheld  him, 


150  EVANGEL1NE. 

Only    more  beautiful   made   by  his  deathlike  si 
lence  and  absence. 
Into  her  thoughts  of  him  time  entered  not,  for  it 

was  not. 
Over   him    years    had   no    power  ;    he    was   not 

changed,  but  transfigured  ; 
He  had  become  to  her  heart  as  one  who  is  dead, 

and  not  absent  ; 
Patience  and  abnegation  of  self,  and  devotion  to 

others, 
This  was  the  lesson  a  life  of  trial  and  sorrow  had 

taught  her. 
So   was   her  love    diffused,    but,    like    to    some 

odorous  spices, 
Suffered  no  waste  nor  loss,  though  filling  the  air 

with  aroma. 
Other  hope  had  she  none,  nor  wish  in  life,  but  to 

follow 
Meekly,  with  reverent  steps,  the  sacred  feet  of 

her  Saviour. 


EVANGELINE.  151 

Thus  many  years  she  lived  as  a  Sister  of  Mercy ; 

frequenting 
Lonely  and  wretched  roofs  in  the  crowded  lanes 

of  the  city, 
Where   distress   and  want  concealed  themselves 

from  the  sunlight, 
Where  disease  and  sorrow  in  garrets  languished 

neglected. 
Night  after  night,  when  the  world  was  asleep,  as 

the  watchman  repeated 
Loud,  through  the  gusty  streets,  that  all  was  well 

in  the  city, 
High  at  some  lonely  window  he  saw  the  light  of 

her  taper. 
Day  after  day,  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn,  as  slow 

through  the  suburbs 
Plodded  the   German  farmer,    with   flowers  and 

fruits  for  the  market, 
Met  he   that   meek,   pale   face,    returning   home 

from  its  watchings. 


152  EVANGEI,INE. 

Then  it  came  to  pass  that  a  pestilence  fell  on 

the  city. 
Presaged    by   wondrous    signs,    and    mostly   by 

flocks  of  wild  pigeons, 
Darkening  the  sun  in  their  flight,  with  naught  in 

their  craws  but  an  acorn. 
And,  as  the  tides  of  the  sea  arise  in  the  month 

of  September, 
Flooding  some  silver  stream,  till  it  spreads  to  a 

lake  in  the  meadow, 
So  death  flooded  life,  and,  o'erflowing  its  natural 

margin, 
Spread  to  a  brackish  lake,  the  silver  stream  of 

existence. 
Wealth  had  no   power   to  bribe,   nor  beauty  to 

charm,  the  oppressor  ; 
But  all  perished  alike  beneath  the  scourge  of  his 

anger  ;  — 
Only,   alas  !   the  poor,   who  had  neither  friends 

nor  attendants, 


EVANGELINE.  153 

Crept  away  to  die  in  the  almshouse,  home  of  the 

homeless. 
Then   in   the  suburbs  it  stood,   in  the  midst  of 

meadows  and  woodlands  ;  — 
Now   the   city   surrounds   it  ;    but    still,    with   its 

'gateway  and  wicket 
Meek,  in  the  midst  of  splendor,  its  humble  walls 

seem  to  echo 
Softly  the  words  of  the  Lord  :  —  "  The  poor  ye 

always  have  with  you." 
Thither,  by  night  and  by  day,  came  the  Sister 

of  Mercy.      The  dying 
Looked  up  into  her  face,  and  thought,  indeed,  to 

behold  there 
Gleams   of  celestial  light   encircle    her  forehead 

with  splendor, 
Such  as  the  artist  paints  o'er  the  brows  of  saints 

and  apostles, 
Or  such  as  hangs  by  night  o'er  a  city  seen  at  a 

distance. 


154  EVANGELINE. 

Unto  their  eyes  it  seemed  the  lamps  of  the  city 

celestial, 
Into   whose  shining  gates    ere  long  their   spirits 

would  enter. 


Thus,  on  a  Sabbath  morn,   through  the  streets, 

deserted  and  silent, 
Wending  her  quiet  way,  she  entered  the  door  of 

the  alrnshouse. 
Sweet  on  the  summer  air  was  the  odor  of  flowers 

in  the  garden  ; 
And  she  paused  on  her  way  to  gather  the  fairest 

among  them, 
That  the  dying  once  more  might  rejoice  in  their 

fragrance  and  beauty. 
Then,  as  she  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  corridors, 

cooled  by  the  east  wind, 
Distant  and  soft  on  her  ear  fell  the  chimes  from 

the  belfry  of  Christ  Church, 


EVANGELINE.  155 

And,  intermingled  with  these,  across  the  meadows 

were  wafted 
Sounds  of  psalms,  that  were  sung  by  the  Swedes 

in  their  church  at  Wicaco. 
Soft  as   descending  wings   fell  the   calm  of  the 

hour  on  her  spirit  ; 
Something   within   her    said,  —  "At   length  thy 

trials  are  ended  "  ; 
And,    with    light    in  her  looks,  she   entered  the 

chambers  of  sickness. 
Noiselessly  moved  about  the    assiduous,   careful 

attendants, 
Moistening  the  feverish  lip,  and  the  aching  brow, 

and  in  silence 

Closing  the  sightless  eyes  of  the  dead,  and  con 
cealing  their  faces, 
Where  on   their   pallets    they  lay,   like  drifts  of 

snow  by  the  road-side. 
Many   a   languid   head,    upraised  as   Evangeline 

entered, 


156  EVANGELINE. 

Turned  on  its  pillow  of  pain  to  gaze  while  she 
passed,  for  her  presence 

Fell  on  their  hearts  like  a  ray  of  the  sun  on  the 
walls  of  a  prison. 

And,  as  she  looked  around,  she  saw  how  Death, 
the  consoler, 

Laying  his  hand  upon  many  a  heart,  had  healed 
it  for  ever. 

Many  familiar  forms  had  disappeared  in  the  night 
time  ; 

Vacant  their  places  were,  or  filled  already  by 
strangers. 


Suddenly,  as  if  arrested  by  fear  or  a  feeling 
of  wonder, 

Still  she  stood,  with  her  colorless  lips  apart, 
while  a  shudder 

Ran  through  her  frame,  and,  forgotten,  the  flow 
erets  dropped  from  her  fingers, 


EVANGELINE.  157 

And    from   her   eyes    and    cheeks   the   light  and 

bloom  of  the  morning. 
Then  there  escaped  from  her  lips  a  cry  of  such 

terrible  anguish, 
That  the  dying  heard  it,  and  started  up  from  their 

pillows. 
On  the  pallet  before  her  was  stretched  the  form 

of  an  old  man. 
Long,   and   thin,  and  gray   were   the   locks   that 

shaded  his  temples  ; 
But,  as  he  lay  in  the  morning  light,  his  face  for 

a  moment 
Seemed  to  assume  once  more  the   forms  of  its 

earlier  manhood  ; 
So   are  wont  to  be  changed  the  faces  of  those 

who  are  dying, 
[lot  and  red  on  his  lips  still  burned  the  flush  of 

the  fever, 
As    if  life,    like    the    Hebrew,    with    blood    had 

besprinkled  its  portals, 


158  EVANGELINE. 

That  the   Angel  of  Death  might   see  the    sign, 

and  pass  over. 
Motionless,  senseless,  dying,  he  lay,  and  his  spirit 

exhausted 
Seemed    to    be    sinking    down    through    infinite 

depths  in  the  darkness, 
Darkness  of  slumber  and  death,  for  ever  sinking 

and  sinking. 
Then  through  those  realms  of  shade,  in  multiplied 

reverberations, 
Heard  he  that  cry  of  pain,  and  through  the  hush 

that  succeeded 
Whispered  a  gentle  voice,  in  accents  tender  and 

saint-like, 
"  Gabriel  !    O   my  beloved  !  "    and   died   away 

into  silence. 
Then   he    beheld,    in  a  dream,    once    more  the 

home  of  his  childhood  ; 
Green    Acadian     meadows,    with    sylvan    rivers 

among  them, 


EVANGELINE.  159 

Village,   and    mountain,    and    woodlands ;    and, 

walking  under  their  shadow, 
As  in  the  days  of  her  youth,  Evangeline  rose  in 

his  vision. 
Tears    came    into   his    eyes ;    and  as  slowly  he 

lifted  his  eyelids, 
Vanished  the  vision  away,  but  Evangeline  knelt 

by  his  bedside. 
Vainly  he  strove  to   whisper   her  name,  for  the 

accents  unuttered 
Died  on  his  lips,  and  their  motion  revealed  what 

his  tongue  would  have  spoken. 
Vainly  he  strove  to  rise  ;  and  Evangeline,  kneel 
ing  beside  him, 
Kissed  his  dying  lips,  and  laid  his  head  on  her 

bosom. 
Sweet  was  the  light  of  his  eyes  ;  but  it  suddenly 

sank  into  darkness, 
As  when  a  lamp  is  blown  out  by  a  gust  of  wind 

at  a  casement. 


1GO  EVA> i  CELINE. 

All  was   ended  now,  the  hope,  and  the  fear, 

and  the  sorrow, 
All  the  aching  of  heart,  the  restless,  unsatisfied 

longing, 
All  the  dull,  deep  pain,  and  constant  anguish  of 

patience  ! 
And,  as  she  pressed  once  more  the  lifeless  head 

to  her  bosom, 
Meekly   she    bowed    her   own,    and    murmured, 

"  Father,  I  thank  thee  !  " 


161 


STILL  stands  the  forest  primeval  ;  but  far  away 

from  its  shadow, 
Side  by  side,  in  their  nameless  graves,  the  lovers 

are  sleeping. 
Under   the  humble  walls  of  the   little   Catholic 

church-yard, 
In  the  heart  of  the  city,  they  lie,  unknown  and 

unnoticed. 
Daily    the    tides   of   life   go   ebbing  and  flowing 

beside  them, 
Thousands  of  throbbing  hearts,  where  theirs  are 

at  rest  and  for  ever, 
11 


162  EVANGELINE. 

» 

Thousands  of  aching  brains,  where  theirs  no 
longer  are  busy, 

Thousands  of  toiling  hands,  where  theirs  have 
ceased  from  their  labors, 

Thousands  of  weary  feet,  where  theirs  have  com 
pleted  their  journey  ! 


Still  stands  the  forest  primeval  ;  but  under  the 

shade  of  its  branches 
Dwells    another    race,    with    other    customs    and 

language. 
Only  along  the  shore  of  the  mournful  and  misty 

Atlantic 
Linger   a    few    Acadian    peasants,  whose   fathers 

from  exile 
Wandered  back  to  their  native  land  to  die  in  it? 

bosom. 
In  the  fisherman's  cot  the  wheel  and  the  loom  are 

still  busy  ; 


EVANGELINE. 


163 


Maidens  still  wear  their  Norman  caps  and  their 

kirtles  of  homespun, 
And    by    the    evening   fire    repeat    Evangeline's 

story, 
While   from   its  rocky  caverns  the  deep-voiced, 

neighbouring  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the 

wail  of  the  forest. 


T  H  E     END. 


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